


For with you I shall come home again

by Swimmer963



Series: A Song for Two Voices [9]
Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Adventure, Awkward Romance, Awkwardness, Coming of Age, Cross-Generational Friendship, Difficult Decisions, Drama, Drunken Flirting, Ethics, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Metaphors for artificial intelligence, Mildly Dubious Consent, Politics, Smart Kids, Teen Romance, Trust, adventures in Mindhealing, competent decision-making, decision theory, judgement under uncertainty, magical research, newcomb's problem, questionable life choices, rationalfic, running a government is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 156,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23337403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swimmer963/pseuds/Swimmer963
Summary: Returning from a year trapped in the ruin of Urtho’s Tower, Herald-Mage Vanyel and King’s Own Dara have some of the answers they sought – secrets of Leareth’s past as Ma’ar, from an outside source. What they don’t have is a final decision, or anywhere near the resources Valdemar would need to mount a war. Vanyel’s next steps involve a number of conversations – with the King and Senior Circle, with his aunt, and of course with Leareth.Meanwhile, Jisa is growing up fast, and Bard Stefen is on his Journeyman circuit, headed north.
Relationships: Jisa/Treven, Vanyel Ashkevron/Stefen
Series: A Song for Two Voices [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/936480
Comments: 122
Kudos: 113





	1. Chapter One

“Trainee Stefen.”

Stef tried not to fidget as Breda met his eyes across the table. She wasn’t normally so formal. Today was different.

“You’ve completed all the required coursework,” she went on, “and your evaluations are in. And excellent. Everyone agrees that, when it comes to your musical skill and training, you’re ready to graduate.”

Stef nodded, keeping his expression steady. It wasn’t bragging, to say he knew exactly how good he was, it was just true.

“I spoke to Katha,” Breda added. “She’s pleased with your progress.”

Stef had been training with Katha for over a year. The Herald-spymaster had taken just a week off when her daughter was born. She sometimes wore the three-month-old in a sling when in her private office. Stef didn’t even know who the babe’s father was.

Breda laid her palms flat on the tabletop. “Stef, you’ve been with us five years, you’re the best student I’ve had in the last decade, and I would promote you to full Bard in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, it’s not my decision alone, and there is politics involved. I’ve spoken to Dellar and he thinks we have two options. We can graduate you early, or we can waive your Journeyman circuit, but not both. You’re fifteen–”

“I might be sixteen already,” Stef protested. “If my name day was early in the year.”

“Perhaps. Nonetheless. During all my time at Bardic, no one has ever graduated before eighteen, and twenty is more common. It’s going to ruffle some feathers, and there’ll be whispers of favouritism. Especially given your Wild Gift and your role with King Randale. It’s worth it – you’re worth it, Stef – but we need to make it palatable.”

Palatable to minor nobles who would be miffed that _their_ precious prodigies weren’t Bards at sixteen. Even now, there were people who wouldn’t believe that a gutter rat from Three Rivers had earned his place on merit alone.

Stef had almost found himself wishing that there were the same pressures on the Bardic Council as there were on the Heralds. They’d been graduating trainees at sixteen or even younger during the Karsite war, sending them straight to border circuits; he had heard all about it from Savil at one of Lady Treesa’s dinner parties.

He looked away. “So those are my options? Stay here as a student another two years, or go out and leave Randi to cope without me?” At least Shavri was practiced enough at imitating Stef’s painblocking Gift to manage without Randi in trance, so she could cover his meetings, and several other Healers, Gemma foremost, could step in for the rest.

“You wouldn’t have to take classes,” Breda assured him. “I could find you something to do as an assistant instructor, maybe.”

But he would still be a trainee for all intents and purposes, wearing a rust-coloured uniform instead of scarlet, with none of the privileges of rank.

And, he had to admit, setting a record for the youngest promotion to full Bard in generations was _very_ appealing.

“Has anyone talked to Randi?” he said.

“Of course. Katha did.” Breda settled back, folding her hands over her knees. “She has a little agenda of her own, I think. Asked if she could have input on your route.”

“Oh?” That sounded intriguing. Maybe related to the Problem? It was in capital letters in his head – the mysterious trouble that had sent Herald Vanyel on an away mission for the last year. Breda had come to their room shortly before Midwinter to warn Medren about the delay, and told him not to worry, his uncle was perfectly all right.

Which had made Stef considerably more suspicious.

He had been good, though, and kept to his oath, not speculating with Jisa at all. Not that he’d seen her much in recent months. Her lessons kept her busy, and he wasn’t swimming in free time either.

Breda’s hint of a smile broadened. “She’d like it if you went north – all the way to the new annexed territory, actually – and kept an ear to the ground. Everyone knows that Bards are nosy; it’s expected. Even the suspicious mountain-folk who don’t trust Heralds yet, apparently think that Valdemaran Bards are very romantic, and we all know you could charm the hair off a goat.”

Stef felt his cheeks growing warm. He tried to conceal it with a smirk. “I imagine I could do that for her.”

Breda returned his expression. “I imagine you could. So. Is that the option you would prefer?”

“I need to think on it,” Stef said automatically. Negotiation tactic. _Never let them push you to decide on the spot,_ Katha had said, but Stef had known it since he was tiny.

“Of course.” Breda’s dark head bent for a moment, and then her hand slid out across the table. “Stef. Listen. You should know that I am very, very proud of you.”

Stef let her take his hand. “I do know.” To his surprise, his throat felt a little tight. “It’s been an honour learning from you, Breda.”

“Oh, don’t think that you’re out from under that, lad.” Breda’s voice was rough as well. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It was like seeing her for the first time. Grey combed into her dark hair. Creases around her eyes and mouth, laughter and pain both. He had eased her dazzle-headaches countless times in the last year; other than Randale, she was the only person he never begrudged helping.

Strange. Breda had never seemed old to him before, but she was probably older than Berte had been when he had left Three Rivers.

Berte. _I wonder if she ever thinks of me._ If she hadn’t been relegated to a shallow unmarked grave years ago. 

It was a stupid question, to ask if Berte would be proud of him.

* * *

“I can’t believe it,” Jisa said again. “Stef… I’m going to miss you.”

They were in his room at Bardic, both sitting on his bed. Medren was out. Stef’s things were already half-packed, the remainder strewn across his side of the room. Stef sat perched on the bed, thin legs folded under him, like a bird about to take flight.

“I’ll miss you too.” Then he lifted his head, a grin lighting his face. “I’m going to come back with the best song-cycle _ever_.”

“Of course you will.”

They both lapsed into silence. There were so many things she wanted to say, piling on top of each other.

“Stef?” Jisa said finally, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt; as usual for when she wasn’t in classes or at the House of Healing, she wore plain brown homespun, the sort of clothing she donned for training in the salle. “Can I ask your advice on something?”

“Sure.”

“It’s about Lady Treesa.” This was her last chance to ask. “She’s very anxious for Van to be back, and she…seems to want something. She won’t outright _say_ it but she keeps sort of hinting.” It was infuriating – grownups who couldn’t have a straightforward conversation and had to talk around everything were one of Jisa’s least favourite things – but Lady Treesa was the person she was. In her fifties now, she probably wasn’t going to change.

“What sort of thing?” Stef said, curiosity flashing.

Jisa had known he would be intrigued – and he was much, much better at the sort of reading-between-the-lines that Jisa needed to resort to, now that she was old enough to know it was unethical to read anyone’s mind for answers.

“She wishes his father got along better with him, I think,” Jisa said slowly. “I never realized they got on badly. Withen is – well, I’d think he’s the sort of person who understands duty.” And thus understand his eldest son a lot better than his wife, surely.

Stef’s fingertips played out a syncopated beat against his chin. “Medren told me once that Lord Ashkevron was horrible to him when he was younger.” Something tightened in his face. “Because of him being shaych and all.”

“Oh.” Somehow that had failed to occur to her at all, though now the pieces were slotting together. A dozen moments, over the few dinners she had shared with Uncle Van and his parents before his mysterious departure. The way Lady Treesa had asked if Vanyel was seeing anyone, bright and hopeful, and then Withen had cleared his throat and Van’s shoulders had gone tense…

It was, in her opinion, an _incredibly_ stupid reason for Withen to be upset. She wasn’t as innocent as she had been at seven, though; she knew it was something people had strong feelings about. Especially people who were old-fashioned. Which described Withen if it described anyone.

Stef was fiddling with his own tunic how. “Medren told me they didn’t speak at all for five years. Back when he was a little boy. Guess it’s better now, but…”

But there was history between them, buried under the surface. Jisa was starting to understand better how that kind of thing worked, even if it seemed idiotic to her.

“Should I talk to him?” she said, trying to hide the reluctance in her voice. It wasn’t that she didn’t _like_ Withen, but approaching him was like trying to climb a brick wall.

Stef tugged at his hair. “Let me think… No. But you should talk to Lady Treesa. I hear wives have ways of making their husbands…unhappy, if they don’t fall in line.”

Jisa made a face. “That doesn’t sound very ethical, Stef.”

“Fine, then don’t.” He folded his arms. “Maybe you could suggest a carrot instead of a stick. Wives can make their husbands very happy as well, if they’re so inclined.”

“Stef!” Now her cheeks were hot.

“Well, it’s true.” Stef’s voice was still light, almost flippant, but there was a tension underneath. Jisa didn’t need Thoughtsensing to guess why it bothered him. And why he might care a great deal more than he was letting on about making Vanyel’s life better in this one, small way.

Still. “I’m not helping her manipulate him.” Jisa ran her hand across the covers, thoughtful. “Maybe I will talk to her, though.” From her oblique mutters, Treesa had been trying to convince Withen to – reconcile, apologize, or just be warmer to Van, Jisa wasn’t sure what – for years, but she was _terrible_ at communicating. They both were; it was awful. Withen probably had no idea what she wanted.

There was still tension in the line of Stef’s shoulders, but he smiled. “Wish I could stay and help, but I’ll be very impressed if you pull that off, Jisa.”

That sealed it. She _was_ going to get Withen to apologize, and she was going to do it while Stef was away, without his help. And prove that she could be just as persuasive as he was.

* * *

Savil sagged down into her overstuffed armchair, a moment before her knees gave. _:You’re sure?:_

 _:Rolan Mindtouched us directly:_ Kellan answered. _:The moment he was back in range. They’re a day’s ride from the Border. Van can’t Gate back from there, unfortunately, but even so, they should be home within the week:_

Thank the gods. Savil had been waiting impatiently for news ever since the snow started melting in Haven, knowing that the Plains were eight hundred miles further south and spring would already have arrived.

The year was 807. The birds were singing outside, the Palace gardens were sprouting flowers, and her nephew was headed home. Unfortunate that Van had missed Karis’ spring visit – the Queen had Gated back to Sunhame just a few days ago – but no one had really expected them to be back in time. It would have to wait until Midsummer, unless the news he brought them had truly urgent implications.

Which it might. The truce with Leareth – and despite everyone’s expectations, they had no evidence he had broken it – was expiring in less than three weeks.

 _:Randi knows?:_ she checked.

 _:Of course. His Sondra already got his attention:_ A pause. _:Tran will organize a meeting for tonight, after his audience:_

Randi, bless him, had been delegating more and more over recent months; he took only one audience per week himself, now, and for most of the Council meetings he would appoint one of the senior Heralds as a spokesperson, rotating so that it wasn’t always on Tran. 

Savil thought it was an excellent idea. Elspeth had always done everything herself, even in her seventies. Randi’s grandmother had been a truly remarkable woman, who would go down in Valdemar’s history as an incredible Queen – nine years after her death, everyone agreed on that – but no one could take on that much and still do it well. Too much had fallen through the cracks as a result.

Randi had even been offloading more of the routine work to non-Heralds. Lancir had pushed for that back in 790, after a certain autumn that Savil still preferred not to think about, but Elspeth had never really had her heart in it. Now, five years after the new merit-based Collegium had opened, they had a first crop of graduates, and Randi was snapping the best of them up as clerks and secretaries. Savil had her own assistant, Lita, a bright-eyed young woman from Traderest who helped her plan her schedule and made notes for her before meetings. She ought to try harder to find the girl useful things to do. Lita wasn’t Gifted, but she had devoured several of Savil’s introductory treatises on magecraft, and had a surprisingly good grasp of the terminology.

It helped. Savil would never have thought they could manage without Van for an entire year, but they had. Not without sacrifices – a slew of deadlines on routine mage-work had been pushed back – but border security had been maintained, and nothing critical had been dropped. As Randi had pointed out, it was very relevant to find out whether Valdemar could manage without Vanyel.

It should have been good news, that the answer was apparently yes, but it hurt to think about.

Without him, they had exactly six Herald-Mages. Tamara, Nani, and Etran were each singlehandedly covering an entire border, respectively the north, east, and west. Savil, Kilchas and Sandra were in Haven. It was a major change from her youth, keeping the most powerful and experienced mages permanently in the capital – but with the Web, it was workable, and she had to admit that none of them were much suited to circuit life anymore.

She was seventy-six now _._ The age Queen Elspeth had been when she died, though Savil liked to think she wore her years better.

They had the eight mages from Baires, who weren’t completely useless. And Arkady Mavelan, so far more of a headache than he was worth, but that could change. Someday.

And the trade she had made in exchange for teaching him had brought them some value. Savil had a half-built attempt at a permanent Gate terminus sitting in one of the unused Work Rooms – there were a dozen of those scattered around the Palace, legacy of a time when there had been more than a handful of mages. She had cast the threshold, and the keystone; it lacked only a power-source now. Even that much meant that in theory, if she built one _outside_ a sealed Work Room, she would be able to fuel the initial steps of the Gate from node-energy rather than her own reserves – the structure was already there, laid into the stone, no need to hold all of it in her own mind.

Not all that useful, given that there were exactly four mages in Valdemar who could use node-energy at all. Arkady was the only one of the Baires mages with a strong enough Gift to do it even in theory, and she was loathe to teach him until he was more in control of his temper, which she was starting to doubt would ever happen.

She had explored the rest of Natti’s books, and learned a number of techniques for constructing bridges, walls, and impressively tall buildings with the aid of magic. Not something she intended to implement, though she had written up all of her notes for the Archives. The last thing Valdemar needed was to be more dependent on mages.

 _Van is coming home._ It was a whispered litany in the back of her mind, disrupting every thread of thought, pulses of joy with each repetition. Six months ago, part of her might have dreaded it. Things had changed. _I’ve changed._ She wasn’t looking forward to their inevitable conversation, exactly, but the thought of it no longer made her whole mind freeze up.

Amazing, really, that she could still feel joy. Leareth was still out there, and despite a year’s worth of all the preparations they could make in secret, they were so, so far from ready to do anything about it. Looking back, though, she agreed with Randi’s choice not to have told the Council. They had all needed time to take in the enormity of it.

 _We can’t afford to be stuck thinking short-term._ Words she had said to Randi, and that he had said to her in turn, countless times. A mantra to live by, even in these strange and confusing times.

* * *

It shouldn’t have been so strange, standing in his own room.

Vanyel locked the door behind him, let his saddlebags slide to the floor, and then sent a mage-light to the ceiling and just turned on the spot. Someone must have taken the time to air it out, because nothing smelled musty – only a whiff of lavender and sendle, sheets and bedding unpacked from winter storage. His desk was pristine, any hint of dust wiped away. Tayledras decorations hung above his mantlepiece, beside a progression of Jisa’s drawings.

He had been gone for longer at a stretch during the Karsite war, but even then, returning hadn’t felt nearly so alien.

Savil had come out to greet him in the stables, and that at least had felt just like old times. He was invited to have supper in her quarters, but Vanyel wanted some time alone to unpack. And think.

 _:’Fandes:_ he reached, apropos of nothing.

 _:I know, love:_ She had been listening in to his surface thoughts. _:Feels odd for me as well. Rolan’s settling right in, but – I don’t know. It almost feels like I don’t belong:_

He had never asked her what she and Rolan had talked about, during the month that he had been insensible in a buried fortress and she had been trapped on the surface. It had passed in a haze for him; even now, he remembered only a few fragments from before Yfandes had Gated in.

Another conversation to have once things were settled again – no. A stumble in his thoughts. _Don’t keep putting it off into a future that’s never going to arrive._

He crossed into the bedroom, pulled the curtains wide, and faced the mirror. His hair had grown out a few inches; it was an incredibly annoying length, in fact, constantly in his eyes but still too short to tie back. The price he had to pay if he eventually wanted it long again, which he did.

There was still some black, amidst the silver, but not a lot. If anything, his hair was further to white now than in the Foresight dream, if that still meant anything at all.

He leaned closer. _Gods, I’m getting old._ There were lines at the corners of his eyes now, deeper when he smiled. Not quite crow’s feet, yet, but on their way there.

A playful prod from Yfandes. _:You and your vanity. Stop it, love. You look fine:_

He sighed, turned away, and flopped down on his bed, splaying out. _:’Fandes, I am glad to be home:_

 _:It has some upsides:_ She sent a flash through her own eyes, green fields and wildflowers, a trio of foals chasing her across Companions’ Field, their mothers standing fondly at a distance.

A reminder to send Jisa a message. He would be seeing her parents tomorrow first thing, the meeting was already scheduled, but it would mean a lot to her to receive a note on the good Palace stationary.

Who else? He ought to plan time to see Lissa, and–

 _:Oh:_ he sent. _:I should send a note to Medren and Stefen as well. I could have them over for tea:_

Stefen was presumably still training with Katha. _I hope she’s kept him out of mischief._ Or at least found a way to channel it into something useful. Either way, he found he was looking forward to hearing about the lad’s adventures. Stef was a born storyteller, who could make a description of paint drying sound captivating, and combining that with Medren’s soothing presence sounded like an excellent way to spend one of his first evenings back.

He wondered if Shavri had figured out how to duplicate Stef’s Gift. Another question to ask. So much he needed to catch up on…

Conversations to have, that hadn’t seemed so scary when they were off in the distant future. Damn it, what was he going to tell Randi?

Yfandes had been distracted – having a side conversation with the other mares, he thought – but she surged into his mind again. _:We’ll figure it out:_ she assured him. A pause. _:I think it’s an excellent idea to invite Medren over, but I just checked with Kellan, and unfortunately young Stefen is away:_

 _:Away?:_ That didn’t make any sense.

_:On his Journeyman circuit. He’s made full Bard status. Left a couple of weeks ago. Your dear mother hosted a going-away party for him. Kellan tells me that your sister got drunk and picked a fight with your father about Guard levies:_

_:Sounds like the usual:_ It was excellent news for Stef, to be promoted so young, but Vanyel was obscurely disappointed anyway. _:’Fandes, don’t let me forget to send Mother and Father a note as well:_ Not that he wanted to see them yet, exactly, but Father would be offended and Mother would be hurt if he put it off. 

_:Ooh!:_ Delight in Yfandes mindvoice. _:New gossip! Want to hear it?:_

 _:I can hardly turn it down:_ he sent dryly.

_:Katha had a babe! With Herald Tobin! It sounds like they might even get married, now:_

He blinked. _:She’s been busy:_ The order seemed a little backward.

Laughter in his head. _:Guess what else?:_

He rolled over onto his back. _:I’m sure I’ll never guess, so you can go ahead and tell me:_

_:Keiran’s pregnant as well!:_

_:Isn’t she a little old for it?:_

_:Shavri helped her out. She’s only six weeks in, but it’s all going well so far:_ A pause. _:Oh! That’s even juicier! Want to know who the father is?:_

He sighed. _:Who, ‘Fandes?:_

_:Bard Dellar:_

Vanyel, despite himself, burst out laughing. _:What, really? Are they together?:_

_:Not exactly, but they’ve been, well, fond of each other for years:_

And he’d never heard a thing about it. Keiran didn’t tend to talk much about her personal life. _:I wouldn’t have thought he was her type:_ Bards had a certain reputation.

 _:Wild and adventurous in bed, you mean?:_ Her mental chuckles joined his. _:Something must have drawn her in, and it’s not his looks:_

 _:’Fandes!:_ It was true that Dellar didn’t look like anyone’s conception of a Bard; Savil had said once, not unkindly, that he had a face like a lumpy potato.

Her only reply was a playful mental poke.

Vanyel laced his fingers together and stretched his palms out in front of him, examining the fading scars for the thousandth time. He had started spending time in trance on self-Healing as soon as he was able to concentrate; he had full sensation and range of motion in his fingers again. Playing the lute every night had done more good than any of An’dora’s exercises, and made Dara happy besides.

His memory was back as well, which was a huge relief. If only the same could be said for his Gifts. He still hadn’t brought it up with Savil, though surely Kellan had relayed something to her.

Oh. _:’Fandes, I should book time with Melody:_ And tell someone about the herbs he was still taking; An’dora had sold them another six months’ worth at a steep discount.

A beat of silence. _:Unfortunately, she isn’t here either:_

 _:What?:_ Somehow he hadn’t even considered that he might get back and Melody would be elsewhere. She was a permanent fixture of Haven. Or maybe of his life more generally.

 _:She volunteered to go north:_ Yfandes clarified. _:Not too long after you left. Shavri made sure they sent word to her that you were headed home, but she’ll need to wrap up her work there:_

He really ought to get up and do something useful – start making notes for tomorrow’s meeting, maybe – but his eyelids were suddenly heavy.

 _:Take a nap:_ Yfandes urged. _:I might. It’s been a long day:_

He wondered how Dara was settling in. They had parted ways at the stables, and he wasn’t sure when he would see her again. It was strange. He had barely known her at all when they set out, and now she felt, not quite like family, but something in that direction.

 _:Don’t worry:_ Yfandes sent, clearly amused. _:I’m sure she’ll invite herself over here in no time:_

 _:Figure they’ll promote her to Whites?:_ She was only seventeen, but their journey ought to count for about four internship circuits. Which implied he had been her mentor, however much it had felt like the other way around sometimes.

_:They’d be mad not to. Get some rest, Chosen:_

* * *

It was late evening. Too late to put it off any longer.

Shavri stood outside Dara’s room, in the trainee wing. Dara didn’t know it yet, but she wasn’t going to be there much longer. Seventeen wasn’t so absurdly young for full Whites – it was the age Vanyel had graduated.

She let her knuckles fall against the wood.

“Coming!” A female voice, not Dara. Muted footsteps, and then the door swung open. “Heya – oh. Healer Shavri?”

“Kerrill, right?” Shavri tried to smile at the girl. “I was looking for Dara, is she–”

“I’m here!” Dara’s face, soon followed by the rest of Dara, popped out between two sheets that had been pinned to a frame around her bed.

The young woman seemed vaguely out of place in what was clearly a teenaged girls’ room. Her side was fairly neat, but there was a discarded shirt in the corner, and her cloak was flung haphazardly over the back of her chair. Kerrill’s side looked like a hurricane had struck her clothes-bin, and her desk was a mess of papers and books pinned down by empty teacups.

There was a pot on the windowsill with a slender green plant in it, sporting a total of about ten large, glossy leaves.

“You’re here for Need?” Dara said cheerfully. “I’ve got her right here.”

“Yes.” Shavri took a step forward, and then stopped, as Dara unfastened the sheath and belt around her waist and passed the blade over, hilt first.

 _:Healer Shavri:_ The voice that spoke into her mind was still dusty, but much sharper and clearer. _:Wondered when you would show up. I’m choosing not to be offended that it took you most of a day:_

Shavri’s fingers tightened around the hilt. _:Dara was taking perfectly good care of you:_

 _:I suppose:_ A mental snort of laughter. _:Except when she locked me up in here for her debrief meeting. That was dreadfully rude:_

Shavri laughed despite herself, partly to cover a surge of guilt – she had done that plenty of times, hells, she hadn’t kept Need with her at all during the day for the first few years. She hadn’t realized it would cut off Need’s senses entirely; that sounded awful.

 _:If you were going to butt in the whole time:_ she sent. _:I don’t blame her. Anyway, I can fill you in now:_ She busied her hands strapping the sword-belt over her Healers’ robes. _:And you’ve got some stories to share as well, I think? You weren’t nearly so chatty the last time we were together:_

 _:I wasn’t asleep on purpose:_ A hint of sheepishness. _:You brought me a good part of the way towards waking, actually. I must have had un-Gifted bearers for a very, very long time:_

Shavri, on automatic, started to head for the door, and then stopped. _Oh._ Part of her didn’t want to bring it up at all, but she knew what the right choice was.

 _:Need?:_ she sent. _:Now that you’re awake, well, we should actually discuss some things:_

A mental sigh. _:If it’s the ethics lecture, spare me that. Dara and I talked the subject to death while we were stuck in that godforsaken Tower:_

 _:Not that:_ Though it was something she should have thought of. Good on Dara. She reached out with her mind, pulling the girl into a shared Mindspeech link. _:Need, you weren’t a fully conscious person before, but it seems you are now. Do you think – is there any way you’d be willing to have us share you?:_

Dara’s surprise, and pleasure, came clearly across the link. From Need, confusion.

 _:I mean:_ Shavri pressed on, _:I can keep you with me, but I can’t go running off on a whim:_ Honestly, neither could Dara. Once she was promoted to Whites, she was going to be as busy as any of them. _:In fact, we could pull in others. If you’re willing. How does that sound?:_

A surprised pause. _:Oh:_ Need sent finally, her mindvoice softer. _:No one’s ever…asked me, before. I need a moment to think:_

 _:That’s fine:_ Shavri sent. _:While we’re on the topic, I do want to sit down and strategize a bit more on the best way to, um, work with you:_ She had been about to say ‘use you’, but that seemed offensive. _:For one, apparently you’re a Healer as well? How come that never came up before?:_

A dusty mental grunt. _:I only give help that’s needed. Swordsmanship, magic, or Healing, but only where my bearer can’t already fend for themselves. You’re a better Healer than I’ll ever be:_

That brought a flush of warmth to her cheeks – and disappointment as well, the rising hope that maybe Need could help Randi subsiding. She was still going to ask, of course, but it had been a long shot to begin with.

 _:Go on, you two:_ Dara sent. _:I know you’ve got a lot of catching up to do:_

It wasn’t until much later, in her quarters, that the part she should really have remembered right away caught up with her. Jisa was already asleep in her bedroom.

Shavri didn’t want to ask, but it would only fester in her mind, if she didn’t. She sat on her bed and carefully drew the sword from her sheath, laying her flat across her knees. 

“Need?” she said.

_:Hmm?:_

Take a deep breath. “My daughter, Jisa. You came for her.” And that was a whole other question – how in the name of all the gods had Need known to direct Embra shena Liha'irden as far as k’Treva Vale, during the exact window of time that they had been visiting?

 _:Right. That:_ The vague sense of someone squirming. _:I’m not sure how exactly I find my next bearer – or how I find the women in trouble – it’s just a feeling I get. A sort of tug. I think it must be a spell I set up once, when I…ended up in this form. Or maybe something the Twain granted me for my prayer. A kind of Foresight. I’m afraid I don’t remember the process:_

It was remarkable that Need remembered anything at all. _Where does she keep her mind?_ Her spirit was tied directly to a piece of metal, and Shavri hadn’t thought to question it that much before, when she thought of Need as just an impressive artifact, but it didn’t make any sense.

More than Foresight, she thought, Need’s tugs reminded her of whatever it was Companions had. Vanyel had tried to describe it to her, talking about Yfandes. _It’s like there’s a part of her outside time, and she sees the shape of the future. Sometimes there are fragments of events, images, but usually it’s just a hunch, and she can’t explain it._

A microcosm of the way a god might see the world, Shavri remembered thinking. The Companions were a miracle, created by an unknown god or goddess – or gods and goddesses plural, the history books claimed that King Valdemar had been very thorough in his prayers. And Need’s origin was similar, albeit smaller-scale. An uncomfortable thought.

 _:Back to Jisa:_ Need sent, a little impatiently. _:Something about her draws me. I can’t entirely say why, but – it feels like she’ll be at the heart of something important:_

Shavri closed her eyes, shivering. “Need, that’s exactly what I don’t want for her! Trust me, being at the heart of something important usually just means a lot of your friends die.” And late nights, endless meetings, months and years sacrificed to a duty she had never asked for.

A dusty chuckle, without much humour. _:I’m no sheltered maiden – I know how the tides of history work, Healer:_ A pause, and Shavri had the indefinable sense of someone squinting at her, disapproving. _:Every mother wants safety and happiness for their child. What does your Jisa want for herself?:_

Like a blow to the stomach. “She wants to be a hero,” Shavri said dully. “It would be a dream come true for her, to have a magic sword. But she’s too young to make that choice.”

 _:Twelve years old, no?:_ A scoff. _:There are women married at that age:_

Shavri shuddered. “Like that ever ends well. You’ve helped me rescue a few of them. Need, you’re right. I can’t choose Jisa’s life for her, and I can’t keep you captive either.” Words that, even now, hurt to say out loud, but less so. “Still, I would like you to please let her grow up first. She isn’t ready.”

 _:She may be readier than you think:_ A gusty mental sigh. _:I won’t cross you on this, mama bear. I have a suspicion it would end badly:_

* * *

Dara stood outside the back door to the House of Healing, fidgeting nervously with the leather envelope in her hands.

Somehow, in the rush of coming back to Haven, greeting her friends in the trainee wing and putting away her things, debriefing privately with the King and handing off Need to Shavri, she had entirely forgotten about her seeds. 

She had a chava-plant seedling too, transported carefully wrapped in damp cloth at the top of her saddlebags, on top of several pounds of prepared beans. It sounded quite easy to grow, and it wasn’t really medicinal, so she felt weird asking the Healers for help with it. She had planted it in a pot in her room.

Hells, if she was the only one who had a chava plant, she could sell the beans it grew and make some money. Dara wasn’t sure if that was a very Heraldic thing to do, but it seemed sensible.

It felt odd to be in trainee greys again. They had given her Whites for her trip even though she wasn’t officially a full Herald yet, but it felt presumptuous to wear them here when her graduating wasn't official, and all the uniforms she had taken were unfit to wear in public.

The door opened. “…Trainee?” the man said, eyes playing over her face. “Oh. Dara! Please come in. What is it?”

He was redheaded, plump, and probably around fifty. “Andrel, right?” she said, reaching to grip his arm. “I, er, have something to show you.”

“Oh?”

She held up the envelope. “Something we found in Kata’shin’a’in. It’s a herb from Seejay–”

“Oh!” His green eyes lit. “This is the stuff Van mentioned?”

“He told you already?” They hadn’t even been back a full day. 

“I saw him for an assessment earlier today. He said a Shin’a’in Healer gave it to him, and on reflection he ought to check it was safe. He didn’t mention you had seeds! I was already planning how we could send someone south for it–”

“So you think it’s valuable then?” Dara said hopefully. 'Earlier today' – trust Van never to sleep like a normal person, it wasn't that long past dawn. 

“Of course! It’s made a world of difference for Van, apparently, even if I haven’t got the faintest idea how it works. Maybe Shavri can figure it out. Not that it matters, really.” He held out an eager hand. “Did you ask about growing conditions?”

Dara, for just a moment, considered asking if the House of Healing would pay her back for the ten gold _daari_ she had spent on the stuff. No, that definitely wasn’t a Heraldic thing to do.

She set the envelope in his palm. “I have a bit of the dried stuff as well, aside from what I gave Van. And instructions. It grows where it’s really hot and wet…”


	2. Chapter Two

Shavri eased Randi into the chair, tucking a cushion behind him. _:Comfortable, love?:_

 _:It’ll do:_ Pain in his mindvoice, but he had it under control.

She rested her hand on his shoulder, pushing through a trickle of Healing-energy. Carefully, measured; her reserves were low, and even with Need once again at her side, she had to pace herself. _:They’re on their way:_ she added. Dara had Mindtouched her a few minutes ago.

Winter had been hard, but Randi seemed to be bouncing back with the spring. Walking here, they had cut through the gardens, holding hands, nearly forgetting Randi’s ever-present personal guard.

Randi reached up to grip her hand. _:Thank you for being here, love:_

Shavri wasn’t sure what to say. _How could I be anywhere else?_ Six months ago, she would have been incredibly anxious for a meeting like this; now it was a relief. Leareth’s truce was expiring in little over a week, and if Van didn’t have answers for them, at least he had information. Worth having. A week was far too urgent a deadline, in so many ways, but time enough to sit down and think.

 _:Quit worrying at me, Healer:_ Need grumbled in her mind, and Shavri squeezed the blade’s hilt.

It might already been too late for Valdemar to survive the next few years, but Shavri had stared into that abyss until it ceased to paralyze her. _Start with what we know, and figure out where to go from here._

There was a knock. “Come in,” she said.

The three of them filed in together: Savil, Van, and Dara. Randi wanted a smaller first meeting, and hadn’t added Savil until Shavri pointed out that they really needed her expertise to interpret anything touching on mage-craft. And Van would feel more comfortable having her there, or at least Shavri hoped so.

 _He’s steadier than I expected._ Vanyel was quite good at appearing calm even when he was terrified, but Shavri knew him, and she could usually tell. Dara, for her part, looked a lot more nervous.

She took her own seat, but kept hold of Randi’s fingers under the table.

“Van.” Randi smiled, reaching out across the table. “It’s good to have you home. How was the journey?”

“As uneventful as we could hope. Won’t claim I enjoyed it. I’m afraid we didn’t have time to make some stops we’d hoped for.” A breath. “The King of Rethwellan is looking peaky. Not sure how many more years he has in him.”

“Oh. That’s very good to know. My father visited, but I’ve never been, unfortunately.”

Shavri let the words drift over her, small talk quickly devolving into a discussion of Rethwellani politics that she probably ought to care about but didn’t. She watched the faces instead. Again, she was amazed by how relaxed Vanyel seemed. Cheerful, even. He smiled easily, his face animated.

“…we’ll have to renegotiate the alliance,” Randi finished. “But let’s worry about that when we come to it.” He paused, extracting his hand from Shavri’s grip and laying both palms on the tabletop. “Van, we’ve already heard about some of your findings, in summary from Rolan. Still, things get lost in translation, and I would like to hear it from you directly. Dara as well. Starting from the beginning, in order, please.”

“Of course.” Vanyel had brought notes, but he didn’t even glance at them. “We reached Kata’shin’a’in without incident, and talked the Shin’a’in elders into showing an outlander Herald their secrets – the Star-Eyed may have been involved…”

This time, Shavri tried her best to listen, even though her attention kept wanting to drift. She had heard the highlights already.

Vanyel was usually a fairly good storyteller, but right now his voice was distant, dry, like he was reading from a textbook about events that had happened to someone else. Which this _was_ , sort of, but his detachment felt forced. She could imagine the tale upset him a lot more than he was letting on.

“That’s all from the tapestries,” he finished. “I have an entire treatise worth of notes about early Shin’a’in customs, but Ravenwing only met Urtho face to face a few times, and never Ma’ar.”

Randi’s eyes were bright, alert. “Interesting that the Star-Eyed Goddess intervened in such a drastic way. Seems very unusual to me.”

Shavri had to agree. _I should have noticed I was confused._ She had been listening like it was a ballad, not real events that had happened to real people, albeit in the distant past.

“It’s very surprising,” Vanyel said quietly. “Which means we should be careful, and question what this information actually tells us. I wasn’t there; I saw a memory recorded decades after the fact, by a process I don’t understand. How trustworthy is it?” A pause. “I’m…not certain, but I do believe it. It’s hard to explain why, just, I’ve spoken to Her. The way Ravenwing felt, looking at Her face to face – I don’t think that could be faked.”

Shavri closed her eyes. _Question what this information actually tells us…_ What did they know for sure?

Very little. They had Vanyel’s word of what he had seen, she trusted him not to lie – Randi could put him under Truth Spell if he didn’t – but how far did she trust his gut sense of what it felt like to speak to a goddess?

Come to think of it, Vanyel’s memory of speaking to the Star-Eyed was hardly proof, though it had convinced Melody.

Like shifting sands under her. _Why do I believe what I believe?_

“We know the gods can intervene directly,” Vanyel went on. “Like Sunhame. The rest… Well, my first thought after I saw Ravenwing’s memories of Urtho, is that I was almost certain Leareth was originally Ma’ar. Again, I can’t fully explain why. I…recognize his style, I guess.”

Randi was nodding. “You’re right, we can’t be sure, but it does fit. Even if we knew nothing else about either of them, well, we would expect the most powerful and ambitious mage of the era to be the one who sought immortality.”

Dara spoke for the first time. “Rolan believed it right away.”

Something flickered in Vanyel’s eyes, that Shavri couldn’t interpret. “Ma’ar was already skilled enough to take out the Archmage of a major kingdom,” he said dully. “He wasn’t even forty. I mean, Urtho was a much better scholar than military commander, but still.”

Silence.

“Let’s pick this apart in more depth later,” Randi said. “I would like to read through your notes, first.”

“I made a summary for you,” Dara jumped in helpfully.

 _Of course you did._ Shavri smiled approvingly in the girl’s direction, but Dara wasn’t paying attention.

“The Tower,” Vanyel said. “Dara’s Foresight pointed us in that direction. Persistently. Not sure what to read into that.” 

Shavri wasn’t sure either. No one knew how Foresight worked; even Van’s theories of magic, that she now knew had to come from Leareth, didn’t come close to explaining it.

“The _leshy’a Kal’enedral_ approved us going in,” he went on. “Meaning the Goddess did. Which is…evidence of something. I don’t know what.”

“Back up a minute.” Randi raised his hand. “Can you explain to me again what a leshya Kalenedral is?” He got the pronunciation surprisingly close.

Vanyel closed his eyes. “According to Karna, our scholar, they’re the spirits of regular Swordsworn, who went on to serve the Goddess after their death. Dara’s met one.”

_What?_

Dara’s cheeks were pink. “She started showing up one night and sparring with me. Though I only saw her once after we were in the Tower. I don’t even know if they can appear in Valdemar. I’m going to stay in practice just in case, though, it would be too embarrassing if she came again and thought I hadn’t–”

“Wait.” Randi lifted his hand again. “Slow down. You’re saying that a spirit came and sparred with you? Physically, with a sword?”

“Yes.” Dara rolled her eyes. “It didn’t make sense to me either.”

Shavri could feel how her mind tried to fit the pieces together into a coherent story. It was exactly the sort of thing that would happen in ballads and tales… _No._ There was something wrong with that line of thinking. The world was the way it was. The sense that something was bizarre, confusing, didn’t fit together – all of that was in her mind.

And important to pay attention to, because it meant there was something she was still missing. _Don’t force it to make sense yet._

She wondered, vaguely, if Leareth thought like this all the time. How did he bear it?

“Fascinating.” Randi turned back to Vanyel. “Sorry for the digression. Let’s stay on track, I want to finish this sometime before sundown. You got into the Tower…how? Rolan sort of skimmed over that part.”

Shavri could swear that Vanyel was smirking. “A combination of Farsight, Fetching, and a Gate,” he said lightly. “One reason they let me, I think, is that I could truthfully make a case that no one else would be able to replicate it even if they found out.” His expression dimmed. “Which, well, it was _supposed_ to be a secret, but it got a bit out of hand. I imagine half the Shin’a’in know about it by now.”

It might never leave the Plains; the Shin’a’in had a reputation for being almost as secretive as the Tayledras. If the news did get out, would Leareth – no, surely it would have occurred to him millennia ago that the deepest levels of a powerful mage’s underground fortress might have survived even the Cataclysm. He must have tried to get at it, repeatedly, but he had admitted to Vanyel that he had never been able to operate on the Dhorisha Plains or in the Pelagirs unmolested. The Star-Eyed held sway there. Vanyel had entered the Tower only with the Goddess’ blessing.

Urtho’s secrets were still safe from Leareth. Probably.

“So you got in,” Randi said. “And found some of Urtho’s old notes, Rolan said. I’d like to hear your summary.”

Vanyel nodded. “Not notes, exactly. Spell-notes would have been very valuable to us, but it seems most of what got left behind was his personal diaries. Decades’ worth, so there’s a _lot_. The relevant passages are mentions of Ma’ar, and some of his musings on magical research. We have complete copies of those, and summaries for the rest.”

“Tell us about Urtho’s perception of Ma’ar.”

“Well, the earliest his name appeared was twenty-five years before the Cataclysm…”

This time, Shavri listened attentively, and pulled over the paper she had brought to scribble a few notes of her own. It was a vivid picture that Urtho had painted. The young prodigy, stubborn, arrogant, driven, brimming over with ambition. Incessantly curious. Abrasive and not much liked at first, but slowly refined over time. By the end, he had been charismatic enough to demand the loyalty of an empire and an army.

“A few things stand out,” Vanyel said finally. “One, he was already talking about immortality even as a student. Urtho saw it as a sign of darkness in him – and, I mean, obviously a method of living forever that involves repeatedly killing people and taking over their bodies is kind of awful, but honestly, Urtho’s ‘death is part of the natural order’ doesn’t sit well with me either. Leareth doesn’t just want it for himself. He would offer that to everyone, if he had the power.”

Silence.

“I hope you’ll forgive me,” Randi said slowly, “for not finding that reassuring. Anyway, my gut agrees with you – I don’t know Leareth as well as you do, but I have a sense of him now, and he and Ma’ar seem very similar.”

Shavri had been thinking the same. 

“He wasn’t the aggressor in the final war,” Vanyel said. “He fought ruthlessly once he was attacked, but from what we can tell, he made efforts to minimize civilian deaths. And repeatedly tried to open peace talks with Urtho. In fact, it seemed to me that Urtho wished he could accept that offer and end the war, but felt that his hands were tied – that he would need to justify it to his advisors, and he couldn’t.”

Shavri winced. _You’re afraid we’re in the same situation._

“We’ll discuss it later,” Randi said. “Youmentioned mage-artifacts?”

Vanyel opened his mouth to speak, but Dara interrupted him. “Oh! Did Rolan tell you about Need?” 

“What about Need?” Randi said blankly. “That she’s awake, yes. Not really any details.”

Right – Shavri herself had dragged some of those ‘details’ out of Need the night before, but she hadn’t found a chance to relay to Randi.

“The Shin’a’in shaman woke her up,” Dara said. “She’s the only way we got out of the Tower – she helped Karna Gate. Oh, and she used to be a human mage.”

“She can show you her origin story if you’d like,” Vanyel offered. “It’s kind of horrible. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Later,” Randi said quickly. “Vanyel, did she have any recollection of meeting Leareth? That’s the main thing we were hoping for.”

“No. Unfortunately. She’s been around a _long_ time, which means a lot of memories to sift through, and the ones from when she was ‘asleep’ are hazy. Leareth doesn’t go around proclaiming his immortality, so she can’t use that as a prompt, and he didn’t give any context on the circumstances, or the name he went by at the time. It’s possible he knew of her and watched her activities at a distance, but never made himself known to her.”

That was a good point. _Well, it was a long shot anyway._ And maybe Shavri would be able to help. They had a helpfully cross-referenced list somewhere, that Dara had put together when she was reading all of Van’s conversation notes, of all the historical figures he thought might have been Leareth in past bodies. Names and dates and places.

It was sorely incomplete. For centuries, it seemed, Leareth – Ma’ar – had left next to no mark on the world.

“Coming back to the artifacts,” Vanyel said. “I’m sure Rolan didn’t pass this on, because we didn’t find it until after he’d left. There was a permanent Gate-threshold.”

Shavri sucked her breath in through her teeth. _So it is possible after all._

“Unfortunately, it was broken, and we weren’t able to fix it – maybe you could’ve done it.” Van made an irritated sound, fingertips tapping the table. “Works to their advantage that it’s broken – the place is impregnable even if someone does find another node of Urtho’s Gate-network.”

“There were more?” Shavri burst out before she could stop herself. What a stupid question – of course there had been more, a single-ended terminus wasn’t much good.

“We have a map.” Vanyel reached into the pocket of his tunic, and drew out a rolled-up scroll of…not paper, or canvas, it had a stiffness to it but a creamy texture that reminded her of fine muslin. He spread it out between his hands. “We copied the original landmarks in black ink, here, and we’ve added our best guess at how that corresponds to today’s landscape in blue, see the dotted lines. The Cataclysm flattened everything, and all the major kingdoms fell apart, so all the current borders are different.” His fingertip found an inked circle, this one a double dotted-line. “One can assume Lake Evendim corresponds to Ma’ar’s Citadel, in what was the capital of Predain.”

Randi’s eyebrows rose. “Why?”

“Sorry, that wasn’t clear. Lake Evendim is around the right distance and direction, and looks suspiciously like a huge crater. We don’t _know,_ but we can speculate that a counterattack reached Ma’ar’s central command, probably at some point after the Tower itself went up. We do know that one of Urtho’s weapons is missing, and very likely contributed most of the damage of the Cataclysm, and the Goddess at least implied that the attack was successful.”

“Right.” Randi ran a hand over his hair. The vibrant brown that Shavri had loved was faded now, not so much grey as colourless. “The weapon. What do we know about it?”

“Less than I’d like about the weapon that actually went off.” Vanyel let go of the map, and it curled itself up into a double tube. “It wasn’t as simple as a huge fireball. We’ve got a few cryptic hints that it somehow unravels magic itself – it’s a pure guess that Urtho was writing about the same weapon, in that passage, but we do have slightly more detail on the others that were still in there, and none of them meet that description. And it aligns with what Need remembers. She described ‘storms’ that ripped apart the structure of all permanent set-spells and artifacts, releasing chaotic magic that would have set off a self-perpetuating reaction.”He had been gesturing vaguely, and he let his hands fall to the tabletop. “That’s all. We don’t know anything more specific about the design.”

Randi made an expectant “hmm”, and waited. Savil had taken the map and was examining it.

“Some of the others are more straightforward,” Vanyel said. “A few that do just set off huge fireballs – enough to burn down an entire kingdom, so thank the gods they’re buried under a hundred yards of stone. And a few more that I think would release incredible amounts of energy into other planes, like the Void. One that’s probably for summoning spectacular numbers of Abyssal demons at once. None can be triggered at a distance, so they would inevitably kill the user as well. All of them came with instructions for how to destroy them – without fully setting them off, I mean, though it looked like the process would be messy and, again, kill whoever did it. I’m not sure why Urtho didn’t destroy them himself – maybe he just ran out of time – and it seemed like it might be a good idea, if we could find a way to do it safely. But the Shin’a’in shaman consulted their spirit guide and vetoed it. I have no idea what we should infer from that.”

Maybe the Goddess had something planned with them later. _What a reassuring thought._

“I have to ask,” Randi said. “Could we use them against Leareth?”

Shavri winced. It was Randi’s job to consider all of their options, but… _no._

“No.” Vanyel’s voice was flat and hard, echoing her thoughts. “The Shin’a’in wouldn’t even consider letting us move them. I did ask, even though it was incredibly awkward – I’m not stupid. And it doesn’t matter.” He let out his breath in a quiet gust. “Randi, we can’t. It’s not worth it. We don’t really understand what any of them do, and we can’t risk setting off another Cataclysm. Urtho _built_ the one that did get used, and he must not have predicted how much destruction it would cause, or he wouldn’t have used it even to defeat Ma’ar.”

Shavri sagged with relief. Van agreed with her, and Randi couldn’t reach the weapons without him.

“That’s what I thought.” No surprise; Randi sounded relieved. “Other artifacts?”

Vanyel glanced over at Dara. “Something called a teleson, according to Need. It’s a Mindspeech-amplifier, and it doesn’t require a mage; any Mindspeaker can use it, and they don’t need to be strong. The remarkable part is that it shows an image as well. I’m afraid it may not be useful in wartime, since it’s not secure; it’s somewhat directional, but any Gifted Thoughtsenser in the path between the two artifacts can listen in.”

Rolan had described it as an artifact that imitated Leareth’s communication-spell. To her, it sounded quite different.

“We did figure out how to decrease the amplification,” Vanyel added, “so we were able to use it to communicate with clan Vuy she'edras at the surface, with minimal risk that it would leak off the Plains. And Yfandes brought up that spoken code works as well as written – if we had a chance for the two speakers to coordinate on a one-time-use code, like Katha sometimes has her agents use, it would be nearly impossible for an eavesdropper to decipher it unless they had been there to overhear the parties discussing it before they split up.”

“Oh!” Savil jumped in for the first time. “I have heard of something like that. It’s in the Eastern Empire textbook.”

“What?” Vanyel looked blankly at her. “The code?”

“No, the teleson. Forgot to tell you.” She unfolded her arms. “It’s a long story, but it turns out a refugee from the Eastern Empire fled to Baires decades ago, and he was a trained mage. He took some of his books with him, and we have them now.”

Vanyel’s eyes were alight with curiosity. “I do want to hear that story.”

Randi cleared his throat. “Other artifacts?”

“Right.” Vanyel lowered his hands. “Some portable mage-lights, that can be activated by non-mages using a command-word. They need to be re-powered by a mage once in a while, unlike the permanent ones in the Tower – I never did figure out how those were powered – but they have quite a clever little energy-storage setup, and we think they’ll slowly absorb power on their own if you leave them in an area with high ambient magic, like a Vale. We have a shield-generator, something that I think must be a portable cookstove, and a few we can’t make heads or tails of. All of them are, in Urtho’s style, silent – they don’t leak any waste magic, so they’re very hard to detect. Groundbreaking in his time, though not so much anymore – the Karsite Adept I fought during the war did something similar with his talismans. One that we didn’t dare bring out with us, is a copy of the artifact that I nearly got myself killed with. It seemed stable, unlike the first one, but taking it through a Gate struck me as a very bad idea. Need and I did Look at it with mage-sight – carefully, from a distance – and we have some diagrams.”

Randi seemed slightly disappointed, but Shavri couldn’t feel anything but relief. She didn’t want a device like that anywhere near Haven.

“That’s it for artifacts,” Vanyel said. “Oh. Another thing that I forgot to mention. We have quite a few untranslated letters, which we think Ma’ar sent and Urtho kept. Karna didn’t recognize the script, but she made exact copies for us anyway. I showed a small sample of it to a scholar in Petras, and they couldn’t read it either.”

“It might have been the trade-tongue for the area,” Dara offered. “As a language Urtho and Ma’ar could both read fluently.”

Shavri closed her eyes. It seemed possible that no one alive could still read and write a language from nearly two thousand years ago. If Dara was right, well, the thing about trade-tongues was that they were usually no one’s first language, and civilization had just about fallen apart after the Cataclysm – there might not have been much trade for centuries.

“I’m hesitant to go hunting for scholars to translate them,” Randi said. “We don’t know what’s in those letters – it could be something we don’t want spread around. I will think about it, though.” A breath, in and out. “Is that all?”

From Vanyel’s expression, clearly it wasn’t all, but he nodded. “For now.”

* * *

A knock on the door.

“Come in,” Bard Breda said. Her face was irritated, but her voice was level. Jisa always liked listening to Breda’s lectures. She had such a _nice_ voice, rich and creamy, musical even when she wasn’t singing.

Jisa had just slipped into the back of her History classroom – out of breath, ten minutes late, and she hadn’t had time for lunch, just skinned out of her pale green trainee-Healer robes into her blue tunic and sprinted over from the House of Healing. Terrill had dumped one of his regular patients on her so that he could go deal with something urgent. Jisa would rather have gotten to handle the emergency rather than something boring, but she supposed it was true that Terrill was more experienced and she probably wasn’t ready.

She really needed a different uniform for her ‘lessons’ with Terrill. All the Healers and trainees knew who she was, now, but every once and while one of the patients or their families from outside Haven would mistake her for a normal Healer-trainee. She liked it better than wearing one of her normal gowns, though, like she always had with Melody.

The door opened, and a page stepped in. “Is Jisa here?”

Every eye in the room turned towards her.

This was one of her mixed classes, with Herald-Trainees, Bardic-Trainees, and Blues all together. Everyone else was still a lot older than her, but Jisa liked it better than the class that was just with other Blues. The Herald-trainees weren’t nearly so stuck-up, and the Bardic students were constantly cracking jokes with each other and Breda, which made the class a lot less boring.

Jisa raised her hand. “I’m here. What is it?” Without even meaning to, she used what she thought of as her Grown-Up Voice, slower and as deep as she could manage, which she had practiced for talking with her patients. It had felt like playing pretend at first but was now starting to feel like just her normal voice; it slipped out around her parents sometimes, earning her surprised looks.

“Herald-Mage Savil would like you to come help with something,” the page said. Jisa was trying to remember his name – he was new, and she’d been so busy lately, she didn’t have time to get to know everyone.

There were a few surprised sighs, and the looks she got were impressed and jealous. Jisa was annoyed – now she would have even more catching up to do – but she felt a little smug as well. “All right, I’m coming. Sorry, Bard Breda. Should I come back after and get the homework?”

“Yes, please.” Breda didn’t seem too irritated, though; she was smiling as well. “Off you go.”

She gathered up her books, and followed the page out of the room.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” she said politely, as soon as the door was closed behind her. “What’s your name?”

He glanced sideways at her, wide-eyed. “Tarin.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tarin.” He didn’t seem like he wanted to chat, though – he looked nervous. Like she was an important, intimidating person. It was a very weird feeling.

They went outside onto the path through the gardens. Jisa wished for a moment that she could stop and chase some of the butterflies above the flowerbed, but there wasn’t time for it, she had work to do.

“It’s very nice out today,” she said. “Don’t you think? Look, the cherry tree is all over blossoms.”

“Y-yes.” Tarin relaxed a little.

Jisa chattered to him all the way to the Heralds’ Wing. He led her up to Savil’s Work Room, and knocked on the door.

Shavri opened it.

“Mother?” Jisa said, confused. She had decided she was too old to keep calling her parents ‘Mama’ and ‘Papa’, like a little girl. Randi didn’t mind when he called her by his first name, but Shavri hated it, so ‘Mother’ it was. Jisa was only a hair shorter than Shavri now. At Midwinter, she had told both of her parents that she didn’t like it when they called her ‘pet’ or ‘sweet’, and she wanted them to stop and call her by her real name.

“Savil–” she started, and then froze. “Uncle Van!” Her voice rose to a squeak.

He was leaning against the wall, but he straightened up and took a step towards her, a smile like the rising sun breaking out across his face. “Heya, Jisa. It’s good to–”

Forgetting all decorum, she rammed into him so hard that she almost knocked him over. _:Uncle Van! I’m so glad you’re home:_ Jisa didn’t know what had delayed him. Randi had said that everything was fine, in the sort of controlled voice that meant things definitely weren’t fine at all.

Her parents had told her that he was on his way, and last night, when she got back to their rooms very late after doing her homework at the library, she had found a note from him on her pillow, on the finest Palace stationary, inviting her to come over for tea ‘at her convenience.’ Which wouldn’t have been until tonight, once she was done tutoring Jeren and then doing her reading for tomorrow’s Collegium classes. She had thought about inviting him to come to tomorrow night’s dinner party with Treven, but probably that was something she ought to ask her parents about, if only to make sure there was room at the table.

She was nearly Uncle Van’s height now; she had never noticed it before, but he was barely taller than Shavri. His arms hung stiffly for a moment, and then he reached to hug her back. _:I’m glad as well. Gods, you’ve grown:_

She had, enough to need all new gowns after Midwinter, now that her chest was coming in. Boys were starting to turn their heads to look at her. It was weird and Jisa wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Some of her friends who were her age had started talking about boys and kissing. Mother said that twelve was definitely too young to be kissing anybody, which made Jisa want to go kiss someone just out of spite, but she didn’t actually know how kissing _worked_ , or how she was supposed to tell that she wanted to kiss a particular person. 

Uncle Van let go of her and stepped back, hands on her shoulders. “I want to hear everything about the last year,” he said. “But not right now. Savil?”

“Jisa.” Savil’s voice was very serious. “We’re going to have to ask you to keep a secret.”

“Of course. I promise.” The excitement drained away; a secret might have been exciting in itself, once, but she had a feeling this one was bad. “What is it?”

Uncle Van was the one who answered. “While I was traveling, I…got hurt. I’m mostly better, but there’s something wrong with my Gifts. Your father wants to know more, and he doesn’t want to wait for Melody. So we need to borrow your Sight. Like we did before I left, when you watched me Gate.” He sounded self-conscious, and she could guess that he didn’t really want her Looking at his mind, but he didn’t hesitate.

“Oh.” Pride and fear warred in her belly, like snakes twisting around. “All right.” The calm of own her voice surprised her. Clearly all her practice with Terrill was paying off.

“Let’s get started, then,” her mother said, a bit abruptly, reaching for her hand and her mind at the same time. Jisa parted her inner shields, slipping into full rapport.

She felt as Shavri pulled Savil in, adding the Herald-Mage’s Othersenses to the mix. Jisa closed her real eyes, watching the world unfurl into currents and patterns of energy.

She took a deep breath, and reached for her own Sight.

It still hurt, to look at Uncle Van’s mind, but…something was different. It was hard to say what. A part was still missing, in the center, but everything around it seemed somehow more solid. It wasn’t related to where his Gifts were, though, so it wasn’t really her business and Uncle Van would find it invasive if she asked. 

With Savil’s Sight merged as well, she could See something that she thought were his mage-channels, like a curled-up snail’s shell. Something did seem different there as well, though she didn’t have nearly as much practice sharing mage-sight and didn’t know how to interpret it.

 _:I’m raising a barrier-shield:_ Uncle Van sent – and through Savil’s Othersenses, Jisa felt the energy surge from his hands and solidify in the air, even as the part of his mind that linked to his mage-channels lit up.

Savil tested it, flinging a force-bolt, and Jisa watched the vines that were his mind ripple and tug.

Oh. It wasn’t like Starwind’s mind, nothing was scorched and bare, but there were pathways that looked withered, and others that looked like they had been _stretched_. As though a huge weight had rested on them, pulling them out of shape.

 _:Fascinating:_ Savil sent. _:Van – did you know that your main mage-channels are wider now?:_

 _:What?:_ Surprise in his mindvoice, and the shield wavered.

_:Not by a lot. I would say, oh, by a quarter. I can see where the damage was. It’s repaired now, but they’ve ‘healed’ into a slightly different shape, like when a broken bone mends crooked. I imagine that’s throwing you off:_

_:Hmm:_ Uncle Van sounded thoughtful. _:All right. Mage-light now:_

Jisa wished she had spent more time Looking at him while he used his Gifts, before – it was hard to tell if it was different now. It did remind her vaguely of how his mind had looked when he had been practicing with Katri, trying to learn how to work through someone else’s potential mage-gift. Off-balance.

 _:Illusion:_ Vanyel sent. _:Starting with something easy. Fog:_

She leaned deeper into her Sight, watching.

Maybe half a candlemark later, Vanyel lowered his hands, and slid down the wall to sit on the floor, sweaty and out of breath. _:Sorry. Think that’s all I can manage:_

He had showed them a number of different kinds of shields and attacks, and tried and failed to built a Gate on Savil’s tiny little stone archway – he had gotten about halfway through laying down the threshold, and he hadn’t seemed to be in pain, but he had flinched and lost it. The same thing had happened when he tried a heat-sink shield, which Jisa gathered was complicated, and when he started on a more detailed illusion of a hawk flapping its wings.

A few times with attacks, like the force-daggers, his attempt had fizzled because he hadn’t put enough power in, even though he clearly had plenty to spare in his reserves. A few other times he had gotten stuck, and spent a minute or two figuring it out – and Jisa had Seen that there was a pathway that was faded, or twisted out of shape, and he couldn’t find the start of it. She had wanted to help, often she could see _exactly_ where her Gift would be able to tug those paths straighter or push them in deeper, but she held back and only watched.

“What do you think?” Vanyel said out loud. “Gods, this is embarrassing. Sorry.”

 _:It’s not embarrassing:_ Jisa sent in private Mindspeech. She pulled out of the Sight meld, and crossed the room to sit next to him.

Vanyel took her hand when she offered it, managing a smile. She couldn’t see his forearms, his shirt covered them, but there was faint scarring on the backs of his hands. It looked like burn-scars, like Tantras had.

Tactfully, she didn’t ask.

Savil retrieved a cushion from the corner of the room and joined them. “The good news is, I don’t see anything that indicates permanent damage. Honestly, a lot of what I was Seeing was like a new trainee, or someone trying a technique they haven’t practiced in many years – all of the parts work, but you’re using your Gifts inefficiently and without perfect control.”

That sounded right to Jisa too. “I think you maybe engrained some pathways that aren’t helping now,” she jumped in. “Sometimes you hesitate and pull back in the middle of something, and that makes you lose control of it. Were you trying not to use your Gifts for a while, and then being very careful?”

“You could say that.” A crooked smile. “I was unconscious for quite a long time, and it took months for my mage-channels to heal enough that I could risk using them at all. Then I gave myself backlash a few times, so I was being cautious.”

“And you got into some unhelpful habits.” Savil rested a hand on his shoulder. “Happens to the best of us. And your channels are behaving slightly differently, now, so old instincts don’t quite line up anymore. I think most of what you need is to get used to it, with lots and lots of practice.”

A groan. “So I get to be a trainee again. Wonderful.”

“It has some upsides,” Savil said. “Honestly, you’ve always had a tendency to throw too much power into shields and attacks, because you could get away with it. You could stand to be more efficient.”

Vanyel ignored her. He made a disgusted sound. “I don’t have time to be starting from scratch again!”

Savil squeezed his shoulder. “You’re not. You have all the knowledge and theory, and a lot of the right instincts. I’d say within a year, you’ll be back to where you were, if not better.”

“A _year_?” Uncle Van sounded completely horrified; his voice cracked on the last syllable.

Jisa squeezed his hand harder, and Savil slid closer, putting her arm around him. “ _Ke’chara,_ hey. It’s all right. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Vanyel leaned into her, tucking his head under her chin, and Savil stroked his hair, murmuring reassurance. Shavri came over and squatted next to them as well. Jisa hadn’t seen Uncle Van visibly upset very often, and it felt weirdly private – but he was glad to have her there, she thought.

He calmed down quickly enough, and extracted himself from Savil’s arms, dragging a hand over his face. “Sorry. Guess that’s not what I was hoping to hear.” A weak smile. “It’s good news in a way. I was scared the damage might be permanent.”

Jisa opened her mouth, closed it, and then went ahead. “Uncle Van, maybe I can help. If you want. I saw some places where I think I could use my Gift to put in a redirect. It’s the same result as if you practiced it a lot, but it might be faster.”

Terrill had a weird philosophy that Jisa had eventually come to appreciate. _Anything you can do with Mindhealing,_ he said, _you can do without, it just takes more work for the patient._ It was like what Shavri said about Healing – most of what Healers did were things the body could do on its own, just more slowly. Terrill was quite sparing with actually using his Gift, she had noticed, and she had thought it was laziness but now she wasn’t sure. Her Gift was a lot stronger than his, but even she had noticed that she couldn’t use it nonstop all afternoon without getting very tired, and she was learning to pace herself.

Jisa had been thinking about it a lot, in the back of her mind, because she was more and more aware that there _really_ weren’t enough Mindhealers. She had seen Terrill’s waiting-list. Before, she and Melody had talked a bit about the classes at Healers’ for people who weren’t Gifted, but who could still learn how to use herbs and splint broken bones – and, most of all, could be trained to examine at a patient just with their eyes and hands, and decide if it was serious enough that they needed a Gifted Healer. Melody had agreed that it would be a clever idea to do that for Mindhealers as well, but then she hadn’t ever done anything about it. Because she was too busy, which came back to the same problem.

Jisa had mentioned it to Terrill, and he had lit up and said it was an excellent idea and he would be delighted to train anyone she could recruit. That just left her with the problem of figuring out how to do that. What was she supposed to do, just go up to random people and ask if they were interested?

She realized Vanyel had just said something, and she hadn’t heard it at all. “Sorry! I was woolgathering. What’s that?”

“I said, I’ll think about it. Maybe.”


	3. Chapter Three

“So that’s it,” Randi said quietly. “Any questions?”

It was early afternoon, two days after the initial debrief, and the first occasion they had been able to cram in a meeting with everyone on the Senior Circle– except Van and Dara, who had a week’s leave.

Not enough time. Randi needed weeks, months, to absorb the new revelations – and they had only a few days before Leareth’s truce expired. Assuming the man had ever held to it in the first place, but they had no evidence he had interfered in Valdemar.

Kilchas was the first to speak. “This is confirmation, right? That he exists, that he really is immortal. And that we ought to be goddamned terrified of making him our enemy.” 

Randi had barely considered that aspect; or, well, he ha already believed it deep in his bones, so this didn’t change anything.

“It could be misdirection,” Keiran pointed out.

“Leareth isn’t the one who brought us this information,” Randi responded, calmly. “It’s from an outside source – one he’s never been anywhere near. Which doesn’t mean it’s unbiased, of course, but it’s not _his_ bias.”

Tantras was silent, his face unreadable. The two of them had met privately a couple of times, and his de facto King’s Own had read all of the journals and summaries. Tran’s conclusion was unchanged. _He was a monster in his first life too, Randi. This only confirms we need to do all we can to defeat him._

Which was exactly what Urtho had done. He had sacrificed everything for it.

 _Urtho thought the war had been a mistake,_ Vanyel had said. _At the end, he regretted it, and wished he could take it back._ Van believed that Ma’ar had been trying in good faith to end the war, and Urtho had been the one bound to his course by precedent and public opinion. Randi didn’t know what to think, yet.

As if the thought was contagious, Kilchas spoke again. “He was willing to negotiate with Urtho. Seems to me that’s an opportunity that was wasted. We shouldn’t make the same mistake.”

“It might have been a ruse,” Keiran interjected. “Ma’ar was willing to use underhanded methods.”

Randi nodded to both of them, acknowledging the points. “We don’t know,” he said. “This tells us something about Ma’ar’s character, but it’s been a long time. I imagine he’s changed.” Become even more frighteningly competent, for one. “We know he made a few tactical mistakes early in the war, but we can’t assume he would be prone to the same errors now.” 

“It sounds like this Urtho made a _lot_ of mistakes,” Keiran pointed out. “He admitted that he misjudged Ma’ar very badly.”

“Maybe.” Randi wanted to agree – it was the easier answer – but he couldn’t, not fully. “Keiran, he was conflicted about it.”

“Because he was a kindly old man who wanted to see the best in everyone. And Ma’ar was his student.”

Randi sighed. “I don’t think it’s productive to argue about the character of a man who died almost two thousand years ago. Though I suppose we are speculating on Ma’ar’s character, because that is relevant to the present.” He glanced around. “One thing that surprises me, is that it seems Ma’ar was remarkably honest with Urtho. He wrote to him often, and he didn’t try to sugarcoat what he was doing. He had no issue with deception in general – he suborned a general in Urtho’s army, and used that opportunity ruthlessly – but, well, the rules of integrity are different in war. We tried damn hard to infiltrate the Karsite command structure.”

Kilchas leaned in. “You think that implies that he’s been truthful with Van?”

“It might. It’s not _strong_ evidence, but Urtho was a man whose intelligence and values he respected.” Like Van. “I, just…” It was hard to pin down the nebulous feeling, and it didn’t feel entirely safe to speak it, but it did feel important.

“I don’t think Ma’ar was trying to manipulate Urtho,” he said finally. “Trying to justify his actions, sure, but Urtho knew him from when he was just a child, before he’d learned the arts of persuasion and manipulation – he got everyone else’s back up. And Urtho saw some worrying signs, but genuine caring as well. Maybe the adult Ma’ar could have faked that. Seems less likely that a fifteen-year-old boy could have tricked a mage with fifty years’ experience teaching.”

Shavri was nodding, and so was Katha. Sandra and Joshel just looked blank. Keiran shook her head irritably, as though dissuading flies.

 _I’m making a mess of it._ Randi shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Only, it seems to me that Leareth hasn’t tried to sugarcoat his goals with Van either. He’s held back sensitive strategic information, sure, but he would have to be an idiot not to.” Vanyel had been doing exactly the same. A careful, decades-long negotiation, slowly laying down the groundwork for, if not trust, at least mutual respect. “I’m sure he’s been carefully presenting his arguments in the most convincing way.” _Exactly like I do when I’m speaking to the Council._ Where to draw the line? “Just, I look at this, and I’m leaning a little closer to believing that Leareth was telling Vanyel the truth as he sees it.”

Keiran was visibly dubious, but she didn’t interrupt. Tran stared past him at the window; he had already voiced his objections and had nothing new to add.

“Moving on.” Randi laid his hands flat on the table. “We’re constrained, because Vanyel’s Gifts took a hit from his injuries. He won’t be at fully fighting strength for around a year, we think, and I’m very reluctant to commit to a war before that, given how much of our firepower he represents.”

Reluctant nods all around.

“And Vanyel’s year of truce with Leareth ends in less than a week.” Randi looked around. “I think we have to start talking to him again. Regardless of whether we think there’s any real possibility of alliance, we need to buy time.”

Dead silence.

“And by ‘we’, you mean Vanyel,” Tran said, a little waspishly.

“Yes. Though if Leareth is willing to consider a neutral method of communication, I might take him up on it.”

Next to him, he felt Shavri tense up slightly.

“I won’t put myself at risk,” Randi added quickly. “No question of speaking to him face to face. Vanyel agrees on that.”

“Can we put Van in that position?” Keiran said. “I mean, in my mind at least there’s no question of him betraying us deliberately, but…well, the stakes are incredibly high here. One misspoken word could have a lot of consequences. Can he handle that much pressure?”

 _He was handling it for fifteen years._ Though, that was exactly the part that a lot of people were worried about. “I’m not sure, but it’s a question we should try to answer. Very soon. Vanyel suggested we come up together with a list of concessions we would be willing to offer Leareth in theory. Without his input, because he admits he might be biased.”

Nods, and even Tran looked a little mollified.

At least no one had theorized that maybe Vanyel had gotten himself nearly killed on _purpose_ , to create an excuse for delay. Tran had raised it to Randi in private, almost apologetically, and they had discarded it immediately; Van couldn’t have known whether the damage would be permanent, and he would never have risked Dara. Just another stupid, pointless accident – although inconvenient accidents were starting to feel suspicious. Randi had felt the paranoia reaching deeper and deeper over the last year, his mind going into overdrive, searching for patterns, questioning which innocent occurrences might have been enemy action.

It didn’t seem like Leareth could have caused this one even in theory, though, it was well outside his area of influence–

_What if it wasn’t Leareth?_

It made even less sense that the Star-Eyed Goddess would try to have Vanyel killed – except that She almost certainly _had_ meddled before, including in ways that had been very bad for Van personally. And, unlike a mortal human, She could see the future. _The Goddess works in subtle ways_ , Moondance had said once, during his visit a year ago. Maybe Van’s gruesome injuries would accomplish some obscure goal of Hers…

Speculating on which coincidences were the gods at work seemed like a sure path to madness, though.

 _Where do we go from here?_ An impossible question that he had no choice but to answer. Start with what they knew…

* * *

Randi sat on the garden bench. Sondra was curled up at his feet like a giant dog, muzzle across his lap, and he rested his chin on her forehead, stroking her mane.

Shavri sat beside him, her arm over his shoulders, not speaking. It was a surprisingly warm evening, even as the sunset faded to dusk and the first stars appeared.

In close contact, he didn’t need to slip into trance to be able to Mindspeak with Sondra. _:I love you:_ he sent.

_:I love you too, Chosen:_

Each year was worse. What would he do when he inevitably became too weak to leave his suite? He imagined being carried around in a sedan-chair. Humiliating – though apparently there were places where it was a sign of status, never having to walk places yourself. Dara had mentioned something about that being true in Jkatha and Velvar.

 _:I wonder if the artificers could work up something more practical:_ Sondra offered. _:And, hmm. You do have the door to that little back garden, directly from your suite. If you had the builders knock out that wall and widen it, and the path, I could come inside:_

It was a good idea. Some of the trainees at the new Heralds’ Collegium had decided that Companions were just as welcome indoors as outdoors. Shallan said the Palace servants had complained about the unreasonableness of muddy hoofprints everywhere, but instead of banning it, she had told the servants not to bother cleaning that wing, and informed the students that they needed to arrange a chore-roster and do it themselves. Which would be good for them, really.

Inexorably, his thoughts drifted back to the cold weight hanging in the back of his mind. Five years since his illness showed its face. Even with the attention of all the best Healers in the Kingdom, they couldn’t halt his decline entirely.

At least he had a way to deal with the pain that left him clearheaded. He swore that it was easier to bear now even when Shavri wasn’t blocking it, and she said that made sense. _Your body gets into the habit of being in pain; it’s a vicious cycle. Now we can break it._

His mind was his own again, and that was a precious gift, but he was still dying. Elspeth had ruled for forty-eight years. _I’ll be lucky to reach fifteen._

Some days he wished vaguely that they didn’t need to draw it out quite so long – some nights, when the pain was especially bad, and Shavri wasn’t there, he found himself half-hoping that he might go to sleep and never wake up. But not usually. Every year that he could hang on gave Treven more time to prepare.

More time with his Sondra, and his daughter, and with Shavri. _I want to hold onto you as long as I can._

Hoofbeats, ringing like bells.

_:King Randale:_

The mindvoice didn’t belong to Sondra. Randi’s head twitched up. A white shape swimming out of the darkness… “Rolan? What–”

The Groveborn Companion stopped a few yards away. _:I would speak to you, privately:_

“Oh.” He rubbed his forehead. “I suppose I could… Shavri, Sondra? Could you give us a minute alone?” He was under guard, of course, but they were discreetly stationed at a distance.

Shavri disentangled her arm and stood up, bending to kiss his forehead. _:I’ll be nearby:_ she sent.

Sondra unfolded herself gracefully, blew into his hair a final time, and followed his lifebonded, her hooves chiming faintly on the stone-paved path. He had never understood how they sounded like that.

 _:We might use Mindspeech:_ Rolan offered. _:I can boost your Gift so that it will not strain you:_

 _:All right:_ Almost effortless. He hadn’t known that was possible, though he supposed Shavri and Sondra, and even Vanyel, could make it easier by putting in more from their side of the link. : _What is this about?:_ he added, though he thought he could guess.

_:Herald Vanyel:_

No, he wasn’t surprised at all. _:What about Van? I hope someone filled you in on our meeting?:_ He had forgotten that not inviting Dara would mean that Rolan couldn’t listen in.

A nod of that ponderous head. _:Delian relayed:_

 _:Oh. Good:_ Randi hadn’t really thought about how the Companions kept each other up to date, but it made sense. And the Monarch’s Own Companion had just spent a year in close proximity with Van; of course he would have opinions.

Rolan took a step closer, blue eyes catching a flash of reflected moonlight. _:I see a pattern, that I cannot explain in full. You need not listen to my advice, nor share it with your fellow Heralds, but I would offer it all the same:_

 _:Of course:_ Until not that long ago, Randi would have said that he would always follow a Companion’s suggestions, especially a Groveborn Companion. Now he was less sure, but, as Vanyel would say, it was still information, worth having.

 _:I am confident that he believes he is on Valdemar’s side:_ Rolan sent. _:He would not knowingly betray you, and he is a careful thinker, and more self-aware of his own biases than most. It is possible he would damage our cause by accident, but the same could be said of you, or any of us, and I believe he will go to great lengths to avoid this:_

Randi nodded. _:I see:_

 _:The trouble:_ Rolan went on, slowly, _:is that he does not fight for Valdemar alone. You have his friendship and his trust, yet ultimately, his loyalty is to something broader than any one person, or any one kingdom. This is the most fundamental change that Leareth has wrought in him, and I am hesitant to call it entirely bad, yet it may present difficulties. Herald Vanyel would say that every human life is worth the same, and so, if it seemed to him that he needed to abandon those half-a-million souls that call our Kingdom home in order to protect a far greater number elsewhere, I believe that he would:_ A significant pause. _:And I believe that his Yfandes would stand by him in it:_

Randi wasn’t sure what to say. _Is that so wrong?_ It wasn’t at all the way he thought about his day-to-day duties – it made a lot of sense to him to focus on problems close to home that he could actually do something about – but still, it seemed like a virtue and not a vice to remember that the citizens of other nations were people too.

Did he only think that because his reasoning around ethics had been irrevocably touched by Vanyel, who had been absorbing it from an immortal bloodpath mage since long before Randi was King? _I don’t know,_ he thought, half-helplessly. It wasn’t like he could step out of his own mind.

 _:Noted:_ he sent finally. _:Let’s hope we never force him to make that choice:_

 _:It is not something he would decide quickly or easily:_ Rolan sent. _:He does care a great deal for Valdemar, and for his friends here. I do not think it impossible that he would turn his back on Herald-Mage Savil, for example, yet I cannot imagine the circumstances that would lead to it:_

That was a good point – Randi couldn’t picture it either. Maybe that was a bias Vanyel had, that she was so important to him – that he weighed her life so much more heavily than a stranger, even if his ideal ethics said they were worth the same – but it seemed like one that probably benefited Valdemar.

 _:I do not have an answer for you:_ Rolan sent. _:It is your decision to make. These are the considerations I offer:_

Which, in the end, came out surprisingly in favour of Vanyel, at least in Randi’s eyes. He bowed his head. _:Thank you, Rolan:_

* * *

Shavri let her eyes play over the faces lined up around the meeting-table. Nine women, all in Guard-blue, with varying levels of rank-insignia on their shoulders. Like a snapshot of Valdemar’s varied regions – hair in blonde, brown, red, and black, curly and straight, eyes from pale sky-blue to coal-dark, skin tones from milk-pale and freckled to sun-weathered brown.

She reached under the table, where Need rested across her lap, and laid the unsheathed blade across the table.

“Lissa, your brother must have mentioned Need,” she said.

Lissa’s brow creased. “The magic sword from k’Treva.”

A sound in her mind remarkably like a throat being cleared, and Shavri could tell by the widened eyes that the others were included as well. _:Not false:_ Need sent, _:but incomplete:_ A mental sniff. _:I’m rather more than an artifact:_

Shavri wasn’t sure, exactly, when Need had learned how to reliably Mindspeak even to those who weren’t Gifted, though she did it sparingly.

A snort. _:Don’t expect me to Broadsend at the lot of you all day. It’s rather tiring. Shavri, quit stalling and let me get a closer look at these fillies:_

Shavri tried not to roll her eyes, and slid the blade across the table. “Er, pass her around. She’d like to get to know you all a bit.”

There were confused looks, but no protests. Eventually, Need had made her way all around the table and back to Shavri’s hands

 _:They’ll do:_ she sent, privately, and with a hint of a grumble.

Shavri’s fingers tightened around the hilt. _:It’s not that I don’t want you, Need. Just, the things I need help with right now aren’t a fit for your skills:_

Need had explained her process, a bit – how she bonded to women based on her vague, Foresight-like sense that they were the ‘right’ ones, and then provided only what they couldn’t do for themselves. Mage-protection, for the un-Gifted; fighting skill, for the untrained; Healing, when the need was desperate.

She was awake, now, and in a position to be a bit more deliberate. It had to run deeply against the grain to spend most of her time accompanying Shavri as she followed Randi everywhere, blocking his pain in moments between meetings, supporting him with her own strength.

Thus a roster of courageous women, personally vetted by Lissa, each willing to take Need on their leave days and go where she led them. Occasionally that might mean longer missions, away from the capital, but Need had agreed to stay within Valdemar’s borders. Something she was much happier about now that Savil had figured out how to adapt the talismans that she had created for the Baires mages – it seemed that if Need’s bearer, mage-gifted or not, wore one of them, Need was sheltered as well. As though the Web couldn’t distinguish her from the woman who wore her.

It shouldn’t have hurt, to hand the blade over. It should have been a relief – certainly she shouldn’t have been jealous. And yet. It was hard to know what else to call the hot, sour feeling in her throat.

 _:Don’t be an idiot:_ But the warmth under Need’s dry, crotchety voice felt almost like affection. _:I’m not abandoning you. You may be an odd type of hero, but you’re one all the same:_

Shavri blinked, hard. _Why does that make me want to cry?_

* * *

They were in Savil’s suite, and it felt like Vanyel had never left.

“Wine?” Savil said, standing by the sideboard.

“Please.” Vanyel scraped his chair a little closer to the tiny table. “You wanted to show me something?” 

“Remember the Eastern Empire textbook I mentioned?” She came over, carrying the two wine-cups. “It has notes on permanent Gates. Not enough that I’ve been able to complete one, but I hoped we might combine what we know and see if that gets us anywhere.”

She said it so casually, like a minor side-note. Vanyel managed not to fall out of his chair. Savil’s smirk confirmed she knew exactly how incredible this was, and was enjoying his reaction.

“It’s too bad we can’t spare anyone to send to this White Winds place,” Savil went on. “I can understand why Randi won’t approve it, but…what a waste.”

“I know.” Dara had given Randi their letter of introduction, but they couldn’t give up any of the current Herald-Mages, even for a few months. Maybe someday…

A flag in his thoughts. _Someday usually means never._

Well, he could mull over it later, anyway. _:’Fandes? Don’t let me forget:_

A wash of affection. _:We’ll come back to it. Maybe at some point it’ll make sense to send a diplomatic party to Rethwellan anyway:_

Satisfied for the moment, Vanyel returned his attention to Savil’s table. He had noticed the cracked leather tome on the table, next to a more recently bound folio of notes in Savil’s hand. “This is it?”

“Yes. Feel free to have a look, but you won’t be able to read it. Our mage-refugee’s widow has been translating it for me.” A look of distaste. “In exchange for teaching her grandson. I think she’s getting the better side of the deal.”

“Oh?” He reached for the book.

Savil sighed. “I shouldn’t be so hard on the poor boy. He thinks everyone is out to get him, but, well, that was kind of true back in Baires. He’s a Mavelan.”

“Ah.” Vanyel could fill in the rest of the story well enough himself, and winced as he cracked open the cover.

A block of unfamiliar text greeted him. Definitely not the Valdemaran alphabet, but it seemed weirdly familiar. He leaned in closer, running his fingertip along the first line. The writing was so regular and neat, not like something written by any scribe he knew.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Savil said. “Natti tells me their books aren’t copied by scribes at all – or, rather, their job is rather different. They make a sort of stamp or engraving for each page, and use that plus a spell to make hundreds of copies.”

Oh. What a weird concept _._ It would take a lot more work up front, he imagined, but to be able to create a hundred or a thousand copies from the same template… “We don’t happen to know what that spell is?” he said hopefully.

“No, sadly. It wasn’t Parva’s specialty – he mostly worked on things like bridges. Natti says he was trained on how to maintain their ‘portals’, which is what they call Gates, but not to build them; he wasn’t high-ranked enough for that. It’s a very closely held secret.”

Copying books by magic was a much more feasible method in the Eastern Empire anyway. _They’ve got no shortage of mages._

Something else was still niggling. Vanyel leaned forward, nose almost touching the page.

“Oh!” Like a bolt of lightning through his mind. “Savil, this… Gods, I know why it looks familiar now. That letter, this one here…” He lifted his eyes to hers. “I think this script is related to the one Ma’ar wrote his letters in!”

“Oh.” She sat back in her chair, blinking. “Gods. How?”

“I mean, the obvious explanation is that we were right and it was a trade-tongue in Tantara and Predain – and the people who originally settled where the Eastern Empire is now were originally from that region,” he said dryly. They were awfully far east, but from the map, Urtho’s Gate-network had included termini well east of Tantara’s borders. Maybe a band of survivors had made it far enough to survive the initial destruction, and then kept on fleeing until they found relatively-unscathed land.

It didn’t really matter how. _Now we just need a scholar from the Eastern Empire._

Maybe they had one. “This Natti,” he said. “What was her profession?”

“Schoolteacher.” Savil frowned. “She was educated. They have a sort of Collegium system – Parva was studying the mage-curriculum, of course, but it sounds like there was a little underground movement of students who wanted to learn the history that wasn’t taught in their classes. Which is how they met, and how Parva ended up enough on the wrong side of his government that he packed up his life and ran.”

“So maybe…”

“She’s hardly a specialist in archaic languages,” Savil said. “The political side was more her interest.”

“Still seems worth asking. Can we trust her?”

“Melody thought so. I’m inclined to agree.” Savil shook her head. “What a remarkable coincidence.”

“I know.” Good fortunate or not, it made him uneasy. Implausible as one of _Leareth’s_ plots, sure, but maybe it was the sort of small nudge a god or goddess could carry out…

 _You’re getting paranoid._ He would drive himself insane constantly worrying if every random event was a god’s plan.

“I’ll have to clear it with Randi,” Savil said. “For now, want to dive into Gates, or start with an overview?”

“Hmm. An overview, I think.”

“Let’s see. Quite a lot of engineering techniques that aren’t much use to us, because they require an unreasonable number of mages. Tall buildings, piping to bring water into them, that sort of thing.”

“Might be worth showing to the artificers,” Vanyel pointed out. “Maybe they can figure out something based on it, that doesn’t need magic.” His mind had already been quietly churning over ways to imitate the book-copying.

“Sandra said the same.” Savil nodded approvingly. “She thinks the group in Sunhame could do something with it. Anyway. Other things… Aside from this book, there was a short scholarly treatise on blood-magic. Which is legal over there, by the way, though in a precisely regulated way. Compulsions as well.” She shivered as well. “I haven’t spent as much time on that one, because for one it’s more theoretical than practical, and two, it’s not like we’re going to implement it. But there is a section on Final Strike that was quite interesting.”

“Go on?” Savil must have noticed the parallels with Ma’ar’s early policies in the ancient kingdom of Predain, she had read all of his notes, but he didn’t feel like getting into it now.

“This scholar was trying to quantify the power output of a Final Strike based on classes of mage-potential,” Savil said. “They have a standard unit of measurement for mage-energies, the same way we do for bushels of grain. It’s a clever concept, really, it had never occurred to me. The amount of energy that can be extracted by blood-magic is determined by the method of death – slower equals more, which is a horrifying thought – and by the potential, and skill, of the mage. Their theory of how it works is that it’s not about ‘blood’ at all, per se, it’s that cleaving whatever binds someone’s life-force to their body releases a large burst of energy, over a couple of seconds. They’ve done controlled tests – they have _graphs_ of it.”

Another shudder. “And however much of that a mage can cram through their mage-channels into their reserves, which is based on class of potential plus level of control, is what they get. The rest spills out as waste – some of it into the Void-between-Gates, they think, like it normally would if the person died of natural causes, but some into the material plane, where it causes the sorts of problems Moondance knows all about. It takes a strong Adept to capture even most of it, so that’s what they do. You have to pass an absurdly difficult test to be certified for it, and there are about twenty mages in the entire Kingdom who meet that bar. That’s in peacetime – in exceptional wartime circumstances, there’s a process for authorizing weaker mages, but they don’t like it because of the cleanup it requires afterwards.”

Vanyel nodded. “All of that makes sense, I think.” It aligned with what Leareth had told him, years ago.

“Anyway,” Savil went on. “This particular scholar was theorizing about the similarities between blood-magic and Final Strike. They know much less there, I suppose because their mages are more willing to murder strangers than sacrifice themselves. He starts with about two dozen case studies, from various times across their history, where there were records of both the mage’s potential and the results of the Final Strike. Then he brings in some maths, and compares the real measurements to his theoretical formula that would estimate the Final Strike output of a given mage, based on a model that a mage calling down Final Strike is basically cleaving their own life-force and channeling as much of the energy-release as they can while they still have control. Anyway, his results check out. He finds it a tragic waste for mages to die in bed, and proposes they find a way to direct a Final Strike into pure mage-energies rather than mostly heat and light, so they can capture and store it in a node. Sounds like the practicalities are a long way off, though, and he didn’t expect it would be implemented.”

No wonder. _Who would agree to test it?_ Still, it was an intriguing idea. “What are the inputs for the formula?” he said.

Savil glared at him from the corner of her eye. “You _are_ thinking it. Damn it, I knew you would.”

It seemed obvious to him. _Wouldn’t it be good to know exactly how big a fireball I can make?_

She sighed. “It’s based on some figures they have about every mage, from their standard tests. I have a feeling you would break their scale.”

* * *

“Thank you for coming,” Randi said.

Vanyel nodded, and perched cautiously in the offered chair. They were in Randi’s bedroom; the King was sitting up in bed now, but the vagueness just leaving his eyes hinted that he had been in trance, likely with Shavri blocking his pain until moments earlier.

Shavri rose, Greens swishing, and Vanyel saw the glint of Need’s hilt at her hip. “Something to drink, Van?”

“Tea, please.” He could have done with another cup of chava, he hadn’t slept well the night before, but he was trying to ration the sack of beans he had purchased in Petras.

Already a week in Haven. Catching up on a year’s worth of news, and with the lives of his friends – and a couple of very awkward suppers with his parents – had kept him busy enough, but he hadn’t done anything useful, and it was starting to gnaw at him.

 _:Be gentle with yourself:_ Yfandes sent, with a waft of affection. _:You’ve earned some time to relax:_

What time? Waiting for spring had cut their return journey awfully close, and tomorrow, it would have been exactly a year since his last conversation with Leareth.

Which was presumably what he was here to talk about.

“The Senior Circle met today,” Randi said. “We discussed a few things, including the fact that it seems Rolan is willing to give you quite a strong vote of confidence.”

“Really?” It wasn’t at all what he had expected to hear, and his hand twitched, nearly spilling the teacup he had just accepted from Shavri.

“Really.” Randi’s voice was level, but he ran a hand over his hair, showing a hint of nerves. “I mean, he had caveats, but if anything they do you credit. That you’ll follow your conscience, rather than blindly obeying me. Van, I’ve done a lot of thinking. I know that could put us at odds, someday – I _have_ to put Valdemar first, it’s my goddamned job. Some people might say it’s every Herald’s job, but, well, I was always been grateful for your perspective before. Making me question what I take for granted. Why should I feel differently now?”

Vanyel bowed his head, trying and failing to think of appropriate words.

“Anyway. We need to decide, _now,_ if we’re sending you back in to talk to him. I have my opinion, of course, but I figured you get a say. What do _you_ want?

 _I miss our conversations._ Something he wasn’t ready to say out loud, even given Randi’s apparent acceptance. “I would be willing,” he said neutrally.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to push you.”

He closed his eyes. “No. I’m not sure. He’s smarter and more prepared than me in every way, and that does make me nervous. But I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good.” Randi’s eyes were satisfied. “I would be less comfortable if you weren’t scared. Still, I’m not sure we have a choice but to ask it of you. Our chances of holding him off in a direct war are slim, especially right now, so I need you to convince him not to start one, at least not yet.”

A pause. “I won’t lie to you, it still disturbs me that you would ever think about taking his side, but if you can credibly make a case that you’re considering an alliance, and he ought not burn his bridges just yet, that might be the best way to buy us time. And…hellfires, Van, you might be the only person in the entire world who could convince him to call off his horrible plan. Defeating him in battle and killing his body isn’t enough – he’s a goddamned immortal, he’ll just pop up somewhere else and try again. I’ll settle for delaying him by a few decades, if that’s the best we can do, and letting our children sort it out. But if he respects you enough to listen…”

Randi’s voice was unsteady, his discomfort clear, but he had reasoned through all of the implications anyway. More than Vanyel had expected of him; it felt like more than he deserved.

Vanyel closed his eyes. Focus. “Randi, the only ways I can imagine he would actually give up this plan, is if I convince him it’s impossible, or that the risks are too high, or if I offer a better one. Which would require spotting something he’s missed. I can try – I promise I’ll try – but I do need more details from him, and I doubt he’ll hand me that on faith. Like I said before, I need something to offer him in return.”

He hesitated, licking his lips. “It would be very useful if I could share some of what I’ve learned in the last year, and gauge his reactions. I can avoid revealing that we visited the Tower itself, make it seem like we got everything from Kata’shin’a’in.” Urtho’s personal papers hadn’t made it out with the evacuation, but they easily could have, and Leareth wouldn’t know the difference. “He might guess, of course. But I think it’s worth the risk.”

“Figured as much.” The King’s voice was muffled, and when Vanyel opened his eyes, he saw that Randi was pinching the bridge of his nose, hand cupped to his face. “We’ve drawn up a list of concessions that we would be willing to give, in exchange for the information you need. And we all agreed it would be informative to hear his side of things if you confront him on his past as Ma’ar. That’s worth the risk that it gives some other intelligence away.” 

“Oh.” Vanyel had asked, but he hadn’t expected anyone to listen, and his mind was struggling to catch up. _Randi, how in the world did you persuade everyone to go along with this?_

“I pushed it awfully hard,” Randi said, guessing his thoughts. “I’m sticking my neck out for you, Van. If I’m wrong – well, if I’m wrong, losing the trust of my senior Heralds would be the least of my worries.” A pause. “Tran wants to talk to you first. And I would prefer it if you saw a Mindhealer, so I can get a second opinion that you’re up for handling this much pressure. Speaking of that, I just got a reply on the note we sent Melody, saying that of course she’ll come back if it’s an emergency, but she’s in the middle of some important work and three months from now would be much better. I suppose the initial letter didn’t make it sound urgent, and it’s a bit late to recall her now, given the deadline. Are you willing to see Terrill instead? I’m aware he doesn’t have context on the situation – I would just tell him that we’re judging whether you’re ready for a very high-stakes mission, you wouldn’t need to give details.”

Vanyel blinked. It wasn’t really fair to feel hurt – of course he wasn’t Melody’s only priority. “I mean. Sure. I don’t think he would know how to unblock my Foresight, though. I _can’t_ talk to Leareth without that.”

A chuckle. “Melody reminded me that our daughter can do it just fine. I know you’d prefer it not be her, but it would take five minutes, and it was her technique in the first place. Shavri can supervise. Or Jisa can try to teach Terrill, if you’d prefer.”

It did make him uncomfortable, but he couldn’t really object to letting Jisa Look at his mind at this point, when they had already pulled her in before to assess his Gifts. He hadn’t wanted to do that either, but Savil and Randi had ganged up on him, and they had good arguments for why it was important.

She had offered to help him get his mage-gift working properly again sooner. He was pretty sure she could do it – her control wasn’t the problem. _I just wish I didn’t have to let my own daughter look that deeply at my mind._

“I don’t mind it being Jisa,” he said, weary. “And I’ll see Terrill, I guess, if you want me to.” He didn’t expect it to be very useful, but if it would make Randi happy… “Sounds like I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.”

It was still soaking in. He was going to talk to Leareth again _._ And try to coax him into giving up his secrets. He had known it had to happen eventually, and thought about it, but it hadn’t been real until now.

It felt impossible. _I can’t._

An echo: _whether or not you can, you will._

* * *

Jisa stood in front of the big mirror in her bedroom, combing her damp hair and looking at her reflection in annoyance. She had a large red pimple on her forehead. Mother said it was normal for a girl her age, and that she ought to wash her face every day and not touch it.

It wasn’t that it was a _bad_ face, she thought. Her nose was slightly too big – it would have been a perfectly nice nose on a boy, but it wasn’t like her mother’s delicate pointed nose at all – and she wished her jawline wasn’t so sharp or her chin so long, but her cheekbones were starting to show more, making her face look more triangular than round. Her friend Mara had commented on it with jealousy.

She had been trying to figure out who in her family she was going to look like when she was grown-up, which was hard, because she had never even met her grandmother on Shavri’s side, and her grandfather Darvi had died when she was just a tiny baby. Her mother had a locket with a tiny painting of both her parents in it, though, and there was a big oil-painting of Elspeth as a young woman in the hallway by the throne room.

Jisa would have liked to look like Elspeth. She had asked if Shavri thought she would take after her great-grandmother, and her mother had gotten a strange expression on her face, and said ‘maybe’ in the sort of voice that meant ‘no.’ Jisa had to agree. In the painting, Elspeth had a narrow face, almost pinched, with a tall round forehead and a small chin, and her cheekbones didn’t show much at all.

Jisa had been thinking a lot about family lately. She hadn’t realized it when she was little, but her childhood had been very strange. She had two parents and they loved each other, which was luckier than many people, but her father was married to someone else, and so in the eye of the law, she wasn’t his real daughter. No one in Valdemar whispered about her being a bastard, but she had overheard servants’ chatter during their visits to Karse. _The king’s kept woman and their love-child._ She hadn’t known what the Karsite word meant at first, and then had been hurt and offended once she learned the translation. Shavri wasn’t ‘kept’ at all, she had a whole life of her own – she was one of the best Healers in the Kingdom. And Jisa couldn’t see what was wrong with having been born because her parents loved each other, married or not. It wasn’t like Randi had already been married to Karis at the time – or like Karis cared a bit.

If it bothered Shavri, she never let it show; she had always spoken of it with pride. _I know exactly whose daughter you are_ , she had said after the incident with the fire, and it had made Jisa feel warm inside all day, thinking that her mother saw Randi in her. Papa was strong and brave and clever, and that was how she wanted to be too, even if she would never be Queen.

Maybe it was better that she didn’t look at all like him, though. She didn’t want people looking at her and remembering every time that she was the King’s bastard. _I want to be my own person._

Still, she could have wished to find something of his face in her own.

Well, people in families didn’t always look alike. Like Uncle Van and his sister – you could tell they were siblings, if you looked closely, their foreheads were the same shape and so were their chins, but everything else was different. Lissa had a nose like a hawk’s beak with flared nostrils, like Lord Withen Ashkevron and Herald-Mage Savil, and Uncle Van had a straight sort of nose, like Lady Treesa.

Like Jisa did.

She froze. _No. It’s impossible._

But the quiet voice in the back of her mind was already in motion, adding up a tally. A dozen moments, here and there, over the years.

Looking at her parents across the supper table. _Mama, is Papa’s illness in the blood? Will I get sick too?_ It had taken two weeks for it to occur to her, in the middle of the night, and the fear had kept her awake until morning.

And they had exchanged one of those significant grownup looks, and then Shavri had assured her that no, there was absolutely no chance of it. Jisa had assumed at the time that her mother knew because she was a Healer, but that was wrong – she knew a little more about the illnesses that ran in families, now, and that it was very hard for a Healer to tell if a particular child would inherit it. Shavri said there probably were signs of it, but smaller and more subtle than what her Sight could reach. And yet her mother had promised Jisa was safe, and been telling the truth; Jisa could always tell.

An odd little exchange she had overheard between Karis and Shavri, years before Arven was born.

Once Jisa had said something at the dinner table, once, she didn’t even remember what, and Shavri had glanced over at Uncle Van with eyebrows raised, _doesn’t she sound just like you?_ In that soft, fond voice that made Jisa feel warm and loved, and she had been so delighted to be compared to Uncle Van, she hadn’t questioned it.

Shavri, knowing that Jisa definitely wasn’t going to take after Queen Elspeth the Peacemaker, and not wanting to say it.

Even the day of the fire. _I know exactly whose daughter you are_ – and she had thought her mother was talking about Randi, and how like her he couldn’t walk away, but Randi wasn’t at _all_ the sort of person who would run right up to a burning building without thinking twice – he would do something heroic to fix it, of course, but carefully – and Vanyel definitely was. _Your Uncle Van used to have a bad habit of charging into danger without a plan,_ he had said to her.

 _You’re family too_ , Randi had said to Vanyel, during that awful night after the dinner party, and Jisa had been too distracted and upset to pay much attention, but she remembered the way Uncle Van’s eyes had flashed to her, overflowing with…something.

And there was Brightstar. He hadn’t acted like it was a big deal at all, that Vanyel was his father by blood, and Jisa had marvelled at it for a moment and then moved on – but it was a good indication that Uncle Van didn’t mind the idea of helping someone else have a child they wanted very badly.

If she was right, it meant Brightstar and Featherfire were her half-siblings. That was a very odd thought, but she liked it.

Look at her face again. The angle of her forehead, the slightly cleft chin, her high cheekbones. No one would have looked at her and said she took after Vanyel, exactly, but now that she was hunting for it, there were a dozen echoes of his features in hers.

_Why?_

The guess came to mind in an instant. If Shavri had already known Randi was ill… She hadn’t, surely, it had been far too early – but maybe Randi couldn’t have children, maybe that had been an early symptom long before they knew about his illness.

It would explain that weird overheard snippet between her mother and Karis. In fact, if she was right, Arven was still her half-sister – just not with the same father she had thought.

_Why didn’t they tell me?_

That part was obvious. It was an awful secret for any King to have, that he couldn’t bear children. A scandal if it came out. They wouldn’t have trusted her to keep it to herself when she was little, and they would have been right not to.

It didn’t bother her as much as she might have expected. Maybe because Uncle Van had always felt like family anyway, her whole life. And Randi was still her father as well, in all the ways that mattered.

_Should I tell them I know?_

She had to. For one, it wasn’t like she could be certain, there were other explanations for everything she had noticed, and not knowing for sure would drive her wild.

But not yet, she decided. She could wait until it was a better time, when Uncle Van had gotten settled and her parents – all three of them – weren’t so stressed.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update (because I am so excited about this chapter and therefore impatient). Don't forget to read ch3 first :D

The sun were shining, birds twittered in the flowering apple-trees, and every field was rippling green-gold.

Stef’s feet hurt. A lot. It was traditional for Journeyman Bards to travel on foot, and it wasn’t like he had a horse or knew how to ride anyway. He had started out blocking his own pain, humming under his breath, but it turned out that was a wonderful way to get awful blisters without even noticing.

Katha had a swath she wanted him to cover, but she had let him have some input on his route. Even though it would’ve been faster to head straight up the North Trade Road, he had taken Exile’s Road out of Haven, heading west, and then peeled off the main road towards Runeford.

Two weeks out of the capital, he had finally passed Grayhall – he had hitched a ride most of the way with some traders, which was traditional as well. After staying the night at the local inn, paying his passage with an evening worth of songs, he had struck out on a minor unpaved road that didn’t even have a name.

He was planning to eventually hit the former northwestern corner of Valdemar, west of Deedun, and then plan his route through the new annexed lands once he could get better maps. First, though, he had a stop to make.

It hadn’t looked nearly this far on the map. An old woman had let her ride up behind him on her donkey part of the way, which was the only reason he hadn’t turned back in defeat.

His scarlet robes were muddy up to knee-height, and he paused just outside the apple-orchard for a failed attempt at brushing them off, and to readjust his pack and lute. _At least it’s not winter._ His boots were damp from accidentally trodding in dozens of puddles, but the exertion of walking had kept him warm enough.

There was no reason to be nervous, but he noticed he was taking a lot longer than he really needed to tighten the straps on his pack.

_You could still turn back._

What, and walk for another two days for no reason? He had come this far. At the very least, he was going to spend the night here and beg a meal and a real bed.

Stef took a deep breath, and followed the path between the trees.

On the other side, a keep loomed. Old stone walls, blackened with age, and a new extension, honey-coloured wood that hadn’t faded to grey yet. Smoke from a cookfire rose in a column into the sky.

Stef sneezed. There were flowerbeds, and quite a lot of pollen-dust in the air. Honeybees and crickets droned in the bushes.

“Bard!” A girl of about eight, with curly golden hair in pigtails, straightened up from a hole she had been digging with a stick, her hands soaked in mud. “Mother!” she shouted. “There’s a Bard here!”

“What’s that, Meli?” A woman’s voice drifted out from the direction of porch screened in by reed mats.

“I said there’s a Bard! A real Bard!” And the girl turned back to him, and curtsied, or at least attempted it – she nearly fell over in the process. “What’s your name?”

“Bard Stefen.” He offered her his best courtly bow, and a winning smile.

Two pink spots appeared on her cheeks. “Wait right there! I’ll go get Mother!” And she turned and sprinted off, kicking up a spray of earth in his face. “Mother!”

 _At least they’re happy to see me._ He was quite a long way from the main road. Maybe they didn’t have Bards visiting all that often.

A murmur of voices, then the woman’s voice again, raised to a shout. “Melita Julianne Frelennye, what did I tell you about muddy feet in my solar?”

“But Mother there’s a Bard here–”

“All right, all right. I heard you the first time. Go wash your face and put a new gown on.”

Muffled protests, followed by pattering footsteps.

Stef waited where he was. _I shouldn’t be here. Why am I here?_ Medren was probably going to murder him for sticking his nose into ancient, private family history – but it really had been on the way. Mostly. Sort of.

Slower, heavier footsteps, and then a woman came out of the screened porch. She was pleasantly stout, somewhere between thirty and forty years old, with a very motherly sort of face and a spectacular amount of brown curly hair pulled into a knot.

 _Who does she remind me of?_ Maybe Jisa, their hair was close to the same colour.

“Greetings, Bard.” The woman curtsied as well, with respect, but she was giving him an odd look, probably because he looked so young. “What an honour. It’s not often we see one of you all the way out here. You walked from the crossing? Please, come sit inside, I’ll bring you something to drink.”

He glanced over at the solar, then back to her, and tried to smile. “I probably shouldn’t, ma’am. If there’s a rule about muddy feet. Er, is there somewhere I could wash up?”

She laughed. “Very thoughtful of you. I wish I could teach my children to have such good manners. This way, then.”

He followed her through the gardens, glancing around, searching for something to say. “That’s a nice fountain.” A stone gargoyle spat a stream of water into the air. The design looked familiar – he must have seen one like it somewhere around the Palace.

“I’m not sure ‘nice’ is the right word for it, but thank you. My grandfather designed it. Here.” She gestured at a trough of water next to a wide set of steps. “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. Vanissa Frelennye. I’m Lord Holder – Lady Holder, I suppose, but I never was very ladylike, even before they handed me this place. Now, what brings you out here?”

He looked down at his feet, shrugged, and started pulling his boots off. “Technically I’m a Journeyman,” he confessed, winking at her. “This is my trial by fire. I’m supposed to go searching for tales and come back with a song-cycle they think is good enough to promote me to a real Bard.”

Vanissa’s shoulder’s stiffened, and her eyes darted to the age-darkened wall – no, not aged. Scorched. “I’m not sure you came to the right place,” she said finally, her tone flat. “All we’ve got here is history no one in their right mind would sing about.”

“Then I won’t, ma’am.” He met her eyes, trying to match her sudden solemnity, even though his heart was suddenly racing and he wasn’t sure why. “You don’t owe me your stories. I’ll sing for my supper and be on my way tomorrow, if that’s what you prefer.” Though, he thought, she hadn’t needed to bring it up at all. _Maybe she wants to share it with someone._ “Ma’am, it’s a Bardic saying that all stories should be heard. Whether or not they make a good song.”

“Perhaps.” Her eyes were distant. “In any case. Come inside, have a bit of wine and a bite to eat, and if it’s not too much to ask, maybe you can set a good example for my children with your excellent manners.”

* * *

_Icy wind, snow blowing white against a grey sky. A pass carved through the mountain's stone, straight and level. A mage clad in black, standing with a silent army behind him..._

(Finally, Vanyel thought. For some reason it had taken three days for him to have the dream at all even once he was no longer blocking it. Maybe it hadn’t been a good time for Leareth. He wasn’t going to bring it up if the other man didn’t.)

_“Herald Vanyel.” Leareth’s black eyes revealed nothing – not surprise, or relief, or pleasure._

_“Leareth.” Vanyel kept his own face controlled. “It’s been a while. I took time to think about it, like I said I would. And I have questions.”_

(He still didn’t know what the right questions were, but he had to make a start somewhere. Yfandes couldn’t be there in the dream with him, but she had helped him lay some of it out, and promised that he could wake her after every dream, anytime, and she would talk it through with him while it was fresh.)

_“You might have questions for me as well,” he said. “You can ask, and I can’t promise I’ll answer, but I don’t intend on lying to you.”_

(Which was true. He had talked over the pros and cons with Randi, but ultimately, he preferred honesty. No need to keep his story straight, and it made the whole thing about a thousand times easier to approach if he could frame it as trying to cooperate with Leareth, or at least feel out whether that was possible.)

_Leareth watching him, unruffled. Waiting._

_“And I have some information I would offer you,” Vanyel went on. “You could consider it a gift. I can start with that, if you want, unless you have any burning questions first.”_

_Leareth inclined his head. “My questions will keep.”_

_“Right.” Vanyel glanced around, and then stepped out from the mouth of the pass and crossed the expanse of snow._

_They met in the middle, and Leareth nodded to him and raised his hands, shaping a wall of snow that blocked the wind, while Vanyel produced a heat-spell._

(Odd – magic didn’t feel hard at all, here. Because it wasn’t real, he supposed.)

_He swept up some snow of his own to form a stool, and sat, the heat-spell glowing between them, Leareth almost but not quite near enough to touch._

_“Leareth,” he said. “Or should I call you Ma’ar?”_

_Leareth’s eyes widened just a hair, and he settled into an even deeper stillness. No other reaction, but he might as well have gasped out loud._

(If Vanyel hadn’t already been as close to certain as he could be that Ma’ar had been Leareth’s original name, this would have confirmed it.)

_“I see,” Leareth said, a long time later. “You traveled to the Plains, to Kata’shin’a’in, and learned from their histories.”_

_“Yes,” Vanyel confirmed. “At the advice of my Tayledras contacts.”_

(He wasn’t sure how much Leareth knew about his relationship with the Tayledras – but the mage knew that they had taught him the technique to create a Heartstone, and Starwind and Moondance had visited publicly. Leareth almost certainly had a spy close enough to the Council that he knew about the alliance with k’Treva, and he would guess that they had been Vanyel’s contact to the Shin’a’in. Revealing it gave nothing new away, and it might be taken as a sign of good faith.)

_“You have powerful allies.” A hint of approval, even pride, in Leareth’s black eyes._

_Vanyel waited until he was sure Leareth wasn’t going to speak further. “You burned a candle once for Urtho, on Sovvan,” he said. “Leareth… I’m sorry about how it ended. You made mistakes, but you were trying your best, and I don’t think his death was really your fault.”_

_Silence._

_Leareth blinked several times. He brought his black-gloved hands to his lap, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them._

_“I did not expect,” he said finally, slowly, “to ever hear those words from you, or from anyone.” He closed his eyes. “I am not sure what to say, Herald Vanyel. It means a great deal.”_

(It was among the strongest displays of emotion Vanyel had ever seen from him. Perhaps it was faked, but he didn’t think so.)

_“I know you cared about him,” Vanyel went on. “Though I’m not sure how much you remember? It was many lives ago, for you, and I imagine your record-keeping wasn’t as tight in the early days.”_

_“No.” Leareth’s eyelids were still at half-mast. “I worked very hard to keep some memories, because they were core to who I was, and some I was able to write down and return to, yet…far more is lost than I could wish. I no longer remember his face at all.”_

(There was genuine grief and regret in his voice, Vanyel thought. He had done a great deal of guesswork, imagining how Leareth today might feel about Urtho, what that particular piece of ever-so-personal ancient history meant to him now. He knew little of Ma’ar’s early life, except that it had probably been difficult; it seemed plausible to him that Urtho might be the closest Ma’ar had ever known to a father figure. Even millennia later, that could still be very significant to him.)

_“Leareth,” he said. “Would you like me to show you? I mean, I can’t promise it’s true to life, it’s only a picture from their records and I may not remember even that perfectly, but…”_

(It wasn’t a lie, but it was deliberately vague. Vanyel wasn’t sure if Leareth knew the full extent of the Shin’a’in memory tapestries, or if he just assumed there was the usual sort of records, scrolls and parchment and perhaps a painting cracked by age.)

_Leareth’s eyes flashed up to his face, and there was a light in them, an expression that Vanyel couldn’t quite read, joy or hope or something else entirely. “They have an image of Urtho?” One hand rose, smoothing back a lock of hair that wasn’t really out of place, the closest thing Vanyel had ever seen to a nervous gesture. “Of course. I ought not be surprised. He is a great figure to their people.”_

_“They light a pyre for him on Midsummer, ever year,” Vanyel said. “And sing for him.” He took a deep breath, and sang the Shin’a’in phrase. “Tonight we make noise / for the Mage of Silence.”_

_A flicker of Leareth’s eyelids. “I am glad he is honoured.” There was the slightest catch in his voice. “It does little good for the dead, to be remembered, but nonetheless.”_

(An echo of a memory of something he had heard Shavri say once. I’ll burn a candle at Sovvan, but that’s not for Kernos, you know? It’s for me.)

_“Remembrance is for the living, I think,” he said. “Here.” And he raised his hands._

_Again, the illusion-magic felt easy again, here. He started out rough, a blurred shape in a robe, and added detail bit by bit. The slender, stork-like height, the wild tangle of silver hair, the hawk-like nose, the piercing blue eyes._

_Urtho stood as though in the corner of their ice-shelter, close enough to touch. Still a little hazy, as though seen through mist, but he was smiling as he had when he greeted Ravenwing for the first time, an expression of almost childlike joy._

_Leareth seemed to be holding his breath. He started to lift his hand, and then let it fall, and only stared._

_“A few of Urtho’s personal writings survived the Cataclysm,” Vanyel said. “They have them in Kata’shin’a’in.”_

(Again, there was no lie – the journals had survived, and there were even copies in the Old City now, locked away and carefully guarded – but he was deliberately giving a minimum of detail. He didn’t think Leareth would be at all surprised, or likely to read much into it; they had both been cautious in rationing out fragments of information since the very beginning.)

_“Oh.” A whispered sigh._

_“He mentioned you,” Vanyel said quietly. “You were his best student. I’m not sure if he ever said this to your face, but he was proud of you. He said–” Vanyel swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, “–he said that there was a spark in you. He feared some of your ideas, but he said, if you were to be lost to darkness, it wouldn’t be because you didn’t care, but because you cared too much. He saw that in you.”_

(Gods, words couldn’t describe how much he wanted to tell Leareth everything that he had learned. It seemed so bitterly unfair that the world had stolen the memories of his youth. Vanyel couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have forgotten, say, Savil’s face. But the more he said, the more Leareth would have a chance to be suspicious of how much he knew – and it might not mean disaster, even if he guessed at their entry to the Tower he probably wouldn’t be able to break in himself, but it was a risk Vanyel preferred not to take.)

_Leareth finally turned back from the illusion to look at Vanyel. His face was still, composed, but his eyes shone slightly in the dim light; hard to know for sure, but maybe there was a sheen of tears there. “Thank you, Herald Vanyel. You have given back to me something that I thought was lost forever. I cannot convey how much this means.”_

_“You’re welcome.” Vanyel bent his head. “Leareth, I understand what you were trying to do. Figure you already know exactly why it failed.”_

_“Yes.” The slightest twitch of his lips, not quite a grimace. “Among many other flaws, I had a terrible understanding of government, and no patience at all.”_

_Despite himself, Vanyel laughed; it was more nerves than anything. “True. I could press you on some of the things you did, in that war – but it was a long time ago. Like you’ve already said, you were young and reckless once. The histories may not be accurate to begin with, and you may not remember the events well enough to confirm it, much less to explain the reasoning behind your choices. Still, I am curious. Knowing what you do now, if you were to go back again, would you do anything differently?”_

_“Of course.” Leareth’s lips pressed together. “I would surrender immediately. Once the war was begun, it had a momentum of its own – had Urtho and I both wished to end it, even then I am not sure that it would have been possible. Better to lose, and begin over, than to risk the final outcome.” A short pause. “It would have been difficult to accept such reasoning at the time. I did not like to lose. And it is cheap, in any case, to imagine going back and knowing the future already. I was not aware then of the destructive powers that Urtho held,” a hint of something in his voice, not distaste, not quite disappointment, but close, “nor had I confirmed that my method of immortality was workable. If I were to step back to only what I knew then, and change only my reasoning… I think I would better see the tradeoffs and risks, and perhaps would conclude early on that the situation was not salvageable, but I am not sure.”_

_Vanyel nodded. “I understand.”_

(Urtho did want to end the war, he wanted to say. He regretted it too, he just didn’t see a way out. But it seemed a lot less plausible that Ravenwing’s clan would have prioritized bringing a recently-scribbled diary entry with them during the frantic evacuation; it was liable to make Leareth suspicious.)

_“I don’t want us to end up in that situation either,” he said. “Trapped in a war that neither of wants, but neither of us can stop.”_

_Leareth’s eyes narrowed very slightly. “And yet your kingdom prepares for war. I am no fool, Herald Vanyel. I know what your annexation of the north means.”_

_“Yes, well, we’re not stupid either.” Vanyel met his eyes squarely, unflinching. “Leareth, I respect you, and I believe that you’re telling the truth about your goals, but it would be irresponsible of me to trust you utterly.”_

_“I am aware.” A fractional smile. “You have told your King something of this matter, then.”_

_“Obviously.”_

(Though it might not be obvious to Leareth, who seemed so inclined to work alone. I see a young man who is desperately lonely, Urtho had written, and yet does not know there is any other way to live.)

_“Any negotiation will be between the two of us,” Vanyel went on, “that much is unavoidable, but if I want to take any action that involves Valdemar’s resources, I do need to eventually justify it to Randale.” It was an effort to keep his voice level, but he thought he had managed it; the cold distance of the ice-dream helped. “So I would appreciate if you tried to work with me on that. In the meantime, I can give you my word that we won’t begin any offensive action as long as we’re still talking, and we may be willing to consider specific proposals about our Border policy.”_

_If Leareth was surprised, or displeased, he showed no sign of it. “I see. You have already assuaged my curiosity for now, where my own questions are concerned. What questions do you have?”_

_“Well, for one, I’m going to need a lot more details about your plan.” Vanyel tugged his cloak around himself and folded his arms; even with the heat-spell, it was uncomfortably chilly in the damned dream. Every time, he thought with irritation. “You’ve basically asked me to take it on faith that you know enough to do this safely, without creating what you so eloquently called a ‘scourge on the world’, and I’m not comfortable trusting you blindly on that.”_

_Something sharpened in Leareth’s black eyes. “I understand your concern, and I respect it. In truth, I will be glad to have another review my work, and I suspect that you, unlike most, might have the intelligence and skill to understand it. However. I wish you to know that these are secrets that could be very, very dangerous to reveal. Some information can be hazardous to know – it is a tempting thing, to summon a greater power, and with partial understanding it is doomed to failure. I will not ask you to swear an oath – I have not earned that much from you, yet – but I would ask you to please, please take the safety of our world into account, when considering what to share, or what to commit to paper.”_

_There was a hint of urgency in Leareth’s voice that Vanyel had never heard from him before._

_He held up his hands. “Of course I’m not going to go around irresponsibly telling people bits and pieces about how to make gods. Please, Leareth, I’m not an idiot.”_

_A sound that Vanyel swore was almost a chuckle. “I apologize for maligning you.”_

_“I’ll be cautious,” Vanyel said, “but I’m not going to promise total secrecy. As I said, the negotiation is between the two of us, but others do have a stake here.”_

(Randi, understandably, didn’t entirely trust his reasoning or objectivity, and Tran in particular, during their private conversation, had pushed hard for him to promise he would run his reasoning past others. Which only made sense. He didn’t fully trust himself, either – and what was the benefit of the Senior Circle knowing, what was even the point of having allies, if not to lean on them for help?)

_A pause. “I suppose you cannot realistically keep this from your Companion, but I would have great caution there. You know that they are created beings, and they cannot help what they are; they are pawns to a god that does not share our goals.”_

_Vanyel took a deep breath. “Actually,” he said coolly, “my Yfandes is entirely on the same page as me, when it comes to how we feel about the current set of gods. It wasn’t always that way, and it hasn’t been easy, but at this point, she’s the one in charge of her own mind, and I trust her.”_

(He was telling the truth. It hadn’t been like that at first, but it must have crept up on him sometime during his long months of convalescence in the Tower, when Yfandes had barely left his side. Vanyel had found himself asking the question as he lay in bed, waiting to fall asleep, the first night after Jisa had cleared his Foresight for him. Do I trust her? The answer was a clear, resounding yes – not to agree with him always, but to reason clearly, taking all the considerations into account. And to stay and have that conversation, no matter what, as long as it took.)

_“Interesting.” Leareth’s face was impassive, his voice calm, but Vanyel could almost see the wheels spinning in his mind. “She has changed the shape of her mind, and shifted the limits set on her? I am very impressed, and I would be curious to hear more, later, if you were willing to share it. It may have relevance to my work.”_

(That was fascinating, and very uncomfortable. Vanyel and Yfandes had already discussed this particular revelation, and she had accepted it, but they would have to think long and hard about whether he would ever be comfortable giving Leareth more detailed information about her mind. And his own, because there was inevitable overlap. Leareth already knew too many of his weaknesses, though hopefully not the current problems with his Gifts, and some of what he did know might soon be out of date, if he could re-learn to Gate and this time without his mind locking up and sending his own channels into instinctive, agony-bringing spasm.)

_They had been talking for a long time, and above their heads, the sky was starting to come apart._

_“One last thing,” Vanyel said. “Now that I know your past, would you prefer to go by your original name? It’ll take some getting used to, but I can switch.”_

_A long pause._

_“Ma’ar was the name my mother gave me, many centuries ago,” Leareth said finally, “but it is not my name now. There is that custom among your Tale’edras, to take a use-name… I would prefer to be known by the name I have chosen myself, to reflect what I am trying to do.”_

_The night sky, full of stars. A world of lights…_

_Vanyel nodded, and then the snowscape crumbled around him, and Leareth’s eyes were the last part to go–_

He woke gasping, heart pounding, but managed not to cry out.

 _:’Fandes:_ he sent, without panic, but with enough force to wake her.

 _:…Van?:_ Her sleep-blurred mindvoice snapped to alertness. _:You spoke to him:_ A mental snort. _:About time:_

 _:Went better than I expected:_ He sat up, trying to untangle himself from the blankets; as usual, his body was slick with sweat. _:Think I got everything like we talked about. Few surprises. Want to go through it now, while it’s fresh…”_

* * *

Sunlight like honey streamed through the glass-paned window. Stef yawned and stretched, reaching above his head with both arms.

It had been a very good night, playing for an extremely willing audience of Vanissa’s husband, their children, the servants and _their_ children, and a small horde of cousins. Vanissa’s eldest was a girl of fourteen, and then there were twin boys, the little girl he had met first, and another lad of four or five.

Vanissa’s husband Rolf was a simple man, easy to charm. _I had him wrapped around my little finger by the third song._ Vanissa herself, he was less sure about. In some ways she seemed very straightforward, with her warm motherly face and her laugh that filled the room, but there was something else there as well.

Stef had slept in late, taken a long bath, and meandered down to the servants’ kitchen to beg some breakfast – apparently his imploring look still worked.

“Bard Stefen.”

Stef managed not to jump, and turned slowly instead, summoning a smile. “Good morning, Lord Vanissa.” He winked at her. “I hope you slept well?”

Her cheeks dimpled, but there was suspicion in her eyes. “Yes. Your last few songs were very relaxing. It was an excellent performance, not that I’m any expert in such things.” She folded her arms. “Now that you’re done enchanting my entire family with your Bardic wiles, I do want to ask. Why are you here, Stefen?”

He blinked. “What do you mean? It’s like I said, ma’am. I’m on my Journeyman circuit.”

“And we’re not on your way to anywhere. You’re a two-day walk off the main road.” Her brow creased. “Makes me wonder if you knew something of our family tale already. We had a dozen Bards and minstrels out here the first few years. You should know I threw them out by the ears. We were busy rebuilding our lives, and the last thing we wanted was people gawking at our private sorrows.” A pause, and her brown eyes seemed to bore into him. “Been a decade since we’ve had any such visitors, though. Didn’t figure people still talked about it. And you’re not a day over sixteen. You weren’t even born at the time. So. Why?”

 _She’s sharp._ He should have guessed it; he remembered how her eyes had rested on him, last night, thoughtful in a way that had made him uneasy.

Honestly might be the best policy. “You’re right, ma’am,” he said. “I do know something of it, and that’s part of why I came. You’re right, it’s not much talked about anymore. Only, my roommate’s from Forst Reach. It’s not quite family history for me, but it’s always felt a little like it.” Medren would have kicked him across the river for putting it that way, but it _was_ mostly true.

“Oh.” A slight widening of her eyes. “That would explain it.”

Stef ducked his head. “Ma’am, I know I don’t have any right to be here. What I said still stands; you don’t owe me your history.” He stared at the floor; his face was hot, and it felt hard to speak. “I, just… I’m not here to gawk, but it felt important.”

“I see.”

Her voice was gentler. Stef had the disconcerting feeling that he was just like the sunlit windowpane, clear and brittle, and Vanissa had looked right through him and seen…what?

“He’s never been back,” Vanissa said slowly. “Herald Vanyel, I mean. Though he was just Van when I met him. Nice lad. I don’t know if I’m glad or sorry, though I certainly can’t blame him for not wanting to see this place again. I wanted to send some sort of condolence, afterwards. But what was there to say?” A pause. “I half-expected we’d get another slew of minstrels out here, once we started hearing about his work out on the Border. Guess folks had forgotten by then that he was part of our little disaster.”

Stef managed to lift his eyes. He hadn’t expected her to say nearly so much, no matter how hard he pressed. Her brown eyes rested on him, piercing as a hawk’s gaze. Her voice was…wistful, he thought.

“I know. I’m surprised to be telling you anything as well.” She shook her head, curls bouncing. “Well, it was a long time ago. And maybe you’re right, Bard, that all stories should be heard. Even the ones we wish we could undo.”

* * *

There was a knock on the door, and a quiet mental tap at the same time, reaching in through Vanyel’s room-shields. _:Uncle Van?:_

 _:I’ll be right there, Jisa:_ He quickly shoved the notes he had been looking over into his desk drawer and locked it, then stood up and made his way to the door.

He hadn’t been expecting her, but he had said she could come by his rooms anytime she wanted; this was the first time she had taken him up on it. 

She stood in his doorway. Her eyes were almost level with his, now; she was exactly the same height as Shavri. Not a little girl anymore, he thought, but a young woman. _When did that happen?_

“Come on in.” He pulled the door closed behind her, and then held out his arms. “It’s good to see you, Jisa.” He stillhad to make a conscious effort not to call her one of the pet-names that she had decided she was too old for now. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please.” She was watching him intently, and there was an odd look in her eyes.

He looked around blankly for a moment, and then went and dragged over the wicker chair from his bedroom. “Sorry, here.” At some point he really ought to get another piece of furniture, but he wasn’t sure where to put it. “How was your day?”

She chattered with him while he made the tea, but he thought she seemed distracted. She kept fidgeting, like she was nervous, which wasn’t like Jisa at all.

He brought her the cup, and pulled over his own chair from the desk. “Jisa…” He wasn’t sure what question to ask. “Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong.” Again that strange intensity in her face. “I have a question, I guess. Or something I wanted to check.” Her shoulders tightened. “Can you…try not to get angry? I wasn’t trying to pry. And I swear I haven’t told anyone.”

“What?” His mind was spinning, failing to find purchase. “Jisa, it’s all right. I promise I won’t be angry. Can you just tell me what it is?”

She lifted her eyes to his, dark and piercing. “You’re my father by blood. Aren’t you?”

For a long moment, all he could do was stare at her, blinking.

 _:’Fandes?:_ he sent, helplessly.

She hadn’t been listening in, but she surged into his mind, and it didn’t take her long to catch up. _:Oh. Well, go on and tell her. Don’t leave her hanging:_

Vanyel swallowed. “Yes,” he managed, faintly. “Should’ve known you would figure it out.” She was too damned clever for her own good. “What gave it away?”

“It was a lot of little things.” Jisa uncrossed her ankles, swung her legs. “And then suddenly it all came together, I guess. I don’t know if Mother told you the story, of when I did the brave stupid thing with the burning building?”

“What?” He rubbed his eyes. “No, not that I can recall.”

Her face lit up. “Oh! I’ll tell you, then. So I was going for a ride by myself–”

Jisa was a compelling storyteller. And the tale itself… He couldn’t help but marvel at it – and flinch, when she described going into trance literally next to a fire.

“Of course you did,” he said, when she had finished. “Good work, Jisa. Though I can’t imagine your parents were pleased…?”

“They were proud of me as well.” Jisa’s eyes were serious. “But, yes, it scared them. And it was kind of stupid, I could’ve been a lot more careful. Anyway. Mother said…” she closed her eyes, “…she said that she knew exactly whose daughter I was. I thought she meant Randi, but she was talking about you, wasn’t she?”

Vanyel didn’t quite manage to stifle his snort of laughter. “It does seem like an apt comparison. Girls are supposed to be more sensible than boys, you know.”

“I was eleven!” Jisa protested. “You were still doing stupid dangerous things when you were a lot older than that.”

Which was true enough. “Jisa,” he said. “I’m very proud of you as well. Remember what I told you? I said you would serve the Kingdom, help people, with the Gifts you have. You did, even sooner than I hoped, and you’ll keep doing it.”

She was blinking hard now, her eyes glowing.

“And it’s very important that you make reasonable decisions around risk,” he went on. “Because you matter, Jisa. There are what, six, seven people in all of Valdemar with your Gift? That’s a precious thing. We need you. And you mean so, so much to your mother and father. And to me. Jisa, if anything ever happened to you–” His throat clenched, and he couldn’t finish.

“I promise!” Jisa swarmed out of her chair and wrapped her arms around him. “I’ll be really really careful, I won’t be stupid again, I’m sorry–”

“Hey, hey, it’s all right.” He awkwardly patted her back. “I’m not angry. Just… I love you so much, and it’s scary, thinking about you in danger. I don’t get to ask you to be perfectly safe all the time, that wouldn’t be fair. Just…”

“I know.” She reached out with a soft Mindtouch. _:I love you too:_ She hesitated. _:I want to call you Father. Only in Mindspeech, I mean, I won’t give it away to anyone. Is that all right?:_

 _:Of course that’s all right:_ He stroked her hair. _:What are you going to call Randi, though? It might get confusing:_

 _:Oh:_ A thoughtful pause. _:I guess I’ll go back to Papa. I thought it sounded babyish but I changed my mind. That’s what Brightstar calls Starwind:_ She giggled. _:He has three fathers to keep straight. That must’ve been confusing when he was little:_

 _:Very true:_ He chuckled as well.

Jisa tightened her arms around his shoulders. _:I’m glad I know:_

* * *

“Keiran,” Savil said dully, wearily. “What is this about?”

It was late in the evening, and Keiran had asked to meet with her privately in her quarters. Savil would rather have been in her bed – it had been a long day.

The Lord Marshal’s Herald wasn’t normally a fidgety woman, but today she was pacing back and forth, hands wringing the hem of her tunic. “Savil, I wanted to talk about the meeting yesterday. And the situation in general.”

“What about it?” Savil stifled a yawn, and lifted her feet one at a time to prop them on a stool.

Keiran turned to face the window, avoiding her gaze. “Savil, I’m nervous about the situation. Wanted to talk through some things with you.”

Savil felt herself go still. “Oh?” Damn it, it was going to be one of _those_ conversations. _:Kellan, help!:_

Her Companion swarmed into her mind. _:I’m here, Chosen:_ A pause, as he caught his bearings. _:Just keep listening for now:_

“I just don’t feel like we’re preparing as much as we should be.” Keiran spun on her heels to face Savil. “I know we’ve done a lot – as much as we can without telling the Council – and we are in a much better position for a war in the north than we were a year ago. Still. We haven’t told the Council. We’ve got the north annexed, but we’re still negotiating with landholders up their to build Guard forts, and the Council doesn’t see any reason to push it. We’re not drafting for the Guard, and recruiting volunteers only goes so far. Damn it, Savil – we have advance warning and we’ve already wasted a year of it!” 

Savil took a deep breath, letting Kellan watch through her eyes. Keiran’s shoulders were tense, and there was a line between her brows. _She’s frustrated. She feels helpless._ That much was a guess she could make on her own.

“I know it’s not the decision you would make,” she said quietly. “Keiran, you know why we have to move cautiously. We could spook Leareth into attacking _now_ , if he gets word of it.” By holding discussions only within the Senior Circle, they could at least hope to keep it from the ears of spies – if they told the Council, there was no chance it would stay secret. That had been true a year ago, and it was still true now.

Keiran folded her arms across her breasts. “Maybe we should be doing that. If he marches before he’s ready–”

“Keiran, he’s had more than a decade to prepare. And he’s not stupid.” Savil’s voice came out sharper than she had intended. _Steady._ She took a deep breath, trying to center and ground.

“That’s only going to get worse!” Keiran snapped. “I really don’t think we should be giving him more time.”

“Keiran, calm down.” Savil fought her own rising heart rate. _Don’t lose your temper._ It wouldn’t help; Keiran’s anger, and the fear under it, were very understandable.

 _:Easy, Chosen:_ Kellan sent. _:I’m here. You’re doing fine:_

Keiran, who had been glaring at her speechlessly, started to open her mouth, and then her jaw closed with a click, eyes going unfocused – she was probably getting an earful from her own Companion.

“I’m sorry,” she said a moment later. Her voice was still curt, but she made her way over to the sofa and sat. “I didn’t mean to be snappy. This is just really frustrating, and–”

“And you’re scared.” Savil wasn’t sure it was the right thing, to say that out loud, but it felt like somehow they had to pull it into the open. “I know. Trust me, so am I. Keiran, I don’t know for sure that we’re making the right choice. But it’s not a good time to be starting a war, when Vanyel’s still not at full health. And…well, he kept to his truce while Van was away. Maybe there’s still hope for a peaceful resolution.”

“With someone like him?” Keiran rolled her eyes. “He’s a madman!”

“Maybe.” Or a visionary. Or something else entirely, beyond what they could imagine. He was nearly two thousand years old. Was he still a human being in any meaningful way? “Keiran, you’ve read Urtho’s journals. And you know how that ended. Randi doesn’t want to give up hope that we can end this some way other than war.” She swallowed. _Don’t hide behind your King._ “I don’t either,” she added softly.

Keiran’s eyes rested on her. “You expect Van to die, if it comes to that.” The sympathy in her voice cut like a blade.

It was how they had all been expecting this to end for almost eighteen years. “Yes. Assuming Leareth would let him get close enough to call Final Strike, which isn’t at all guaranteed.”

And another terrifying thought: if Van still wasn’t sure, when they inevitably reached the end of this road, would he even obey his King’s orders to kill Leareth at all costs? Savil didn’t know. _Oh, ke’chara…_

“I know that must be hard,” Keiran said. “Savil, you can’t let it cloud your judgement.”

 _You think I’m just afraid to lose him._ And she was, but that wasn’t why. Keiran was right; it would have been incredibly selfish and irresponsible of her to prioritize her nephew’s life over the fate of the Kingdom.

It felt impossible to explain the real reason why she was so hesitant – it was a thousand pieces of context. Decades of knowing her nephew’s mind and heart. _I trust Van’s judgement in this._ Not perfectly, he was fallible, but if he thought there was still hope, she owed it to him to at least consider his side of the story.

“Leareth as good as offered Vanyel an alliance,” she said dully. “Maybe it was meaningless, Keiran, but maybe it wasn’t. If he truly believes that he’s doing the right thing,” which Vanyel thought he did, though how could they know, “and he really does respect Vanyel,” again the same quandary, “then we shouldn’t just ignore that opportunity.”

Keiran’s gaze hardened. “Herald-Mage Lancir told me once that a true believer, a man with an ideology, is even more dangerous than a selfish warlord. Like the Karsites, starting a war because we didn’t worship their god.”

A hint of disgust in her voice, mostly concealed – Keiran had never thought much of the Karsite religion, though she was civil enough with Karis.

 _I wonder if he said the same thing to Vanyel._ Probably; Lance had been no fool. “I don’t think that’s very comparable. Karis is more of a true believer than her father _or_ the arch-priest who took over, and Hanovar hardly spoke for Vkandis.”

“Mmm.” Keiran shifted her weight. “Savil, I don’t know. I’m uncomfortable, but I suppose I could be biased.” A rough chuckle, without much humour in it. “I am the one in charge of directing a war, after all. Could be that when all you have is a hammer…”

“Then everything looks like a nail,” Savil finished, and then found herself at a loss. _:Kellan, help me:_

 _:Thank her for being honest with you:_ her Companion prompted. _:All she wanted was someone who would listen:_

Savil nodded briskly to herself. “I’m glad you came to me, Keiran. Thank you for telling me this. All your points are good ones.”

A tight smile. “You’re welcome.”

The silence stretched out. Keiran was still tense, Savil thought, her doubts weren’t really resolved, but it didn’t seem they would make any more progress talking about it today.

She riffled through her mind for another topic. “How’s pregnancy treating you?”

Keiran’s hand fluttered to her belly, still lean and flat under her Whites. “It’s not too bad, so far. I’m a little tired, but I’ve barely been sick at all. Poor Katha is dreadfully jealous. Shavri says the babe looks healthy so far, though it’s only about this long.” She held her fingers to indicate the diameter of a blueberry. “Hard to imagine I’ve got a little person inside me.” Then her smile faded. “I did start to wonder if it was the right choice. Bringing a child into this world, with everything that’s happening.”

It was the same question Savil had been mulling over, and she wasn’t sure of the true answer, but she knew what she was going to say out loud. “Keiran, you can’t wait until all the problems in the world are fixed to live your life. That’s never going to happen. And if we win this thing, we do need there to be a next generation.”

“Oh.” A surprised flicker of her eyelids, and then a slow-blooming smile. “Never thought you of all people would give me that advice.”

 _And what is that supposed to mean, exactly?_ Savil didn’t push. It was probably just that her reputation was as someone who put duty first, and didn’t care much for family. Which was true enough. She was close with Van, but that hadn’t ever really been because they were related by blood.

“I heard Bard Dellar is the father,” she said lightly. It was hard to picture; Keiran was a handsome woman, and Dellar’s features resembled a squashed potato. Not to mention he was at least fifteen years older, about Breda’s age. “Are you two, er, together?”

A fresh smile. “We’re not planning to marry, if that’s the question. Probably not move in together either, neither of us is the type. But he’ll be involved. He said he’s always hoped he would be a father, but it never worked out.”

It was a strange arrangement, but really, no weirder than the Hawkbrothers’ various agreements. Savil could feel her lips tugging into a smile as well. Gods, it was such a long time since she’d had a conversation like this. Pointless trivialities, but she felt like a seedling stretching towards precious sunlight.

 _:It’s not pointless:_ Kellan sent, amused. _:You’re human, love. It’s important to make time for that:_

* * *

“This is the place,” Vanissa said, pointing.

Stef had hardly needed the explanation. It was nearly sunset, and they had just come to the edge of a clearing, vaguely circular and about a hundred yards across.

He hadn’t noticed it until Vanissa pointed it out, but all the trees in this area were slim and young, mostly beeches and other fast-growing leafy trees, rather than the mature pines and firs he had passed on his way to the keep. As she led him along the path, they had grown even smaller and spindlier, then dwindled to bushes and heather, interspersed with raw earth and patches of bare, glossy stone.

Ahead, something glinted, catching the evening sunlight and reflecting gold into his eyes. Stef thought for a moment that it might be a lake or pond, but it wasn’t. It was an expanse of the same odd, glassy material that lay under his feet.

“When it happened, I was – oh, somewhere that way.” Vanissa pointed vaguely. “Two miles away, helping search the grounds. Even that far off, felt like I’d fallen into a furnace. We ran for our lives, made it back to the keep before the fire reached us. I spent candlemarks hauling buckets of water, trying to keep it off the barns. Then one of the Heralds who wasn’t wounded made it out to us, and showed us a clever trick to burn strips of grass so the fire wouldn’t be able to cross. Eventually there was a thunderstorm, and it was mostly out by morning.” Her eyes stared into the distance. “At that point I still thought it’d been the Outlander mage, the one who must’ve killed poor Staven. I didn’t find out what had actually happened until, oh, sometime the next day. Even then, didn’t sink in right away. We were all in shock.”

Her voice was heavy, the words falling between them like dropped stones. Stef blinked against the searing sunset light.

It was far too easy to imagine that it was eighteen years earlier, and the horizon was still on fire.

“It must’ve been sometime that day that I tried to come out here,” Vanissa said slowly. “I remember the ground was still warm, so it can’t’ve been long. Wasn’t much to see, either, just acres and acres of ashes and slagged rock. I guessed at where the center of it was, and I scraped up some of the ashes and put them in an urn.” She swiped a hand across her face. “We buried him next to Staven – what was left of him – but not until about a month later, once we’d had a chance to clear our heads. For weeks I had this urn just sitting on the windowsill. In the pantry, for some reason, I guess it’s the first place I saw to set it down when I got back.”

Stef’s eyes were stinging. _You will not cry in front of her,_ he told himself firmly.

“The news arrived sometime in the middle,” Vanissa went on. “Queen Elspeth ruled that I was to inherit. I remember that; I nearly fell out of my chair when I heard. Couldn’t imagine what they were thinking. I mean, I’d helped out around the place, but I was barely twenty.” A gusty sigh. “Suppose the main point in my favour is that I had no wish to continue the goddamned feud. People were angry. Even my father blamed the Lesharas. But all I could think was that we were in the same boat – actually, they were a lot worse off, lost nearly all their livestock. It was a bit late to argue over whose fault it was, in my mind. All that was left to do was pick ourselves up and keep going. So we did. We have.”

She fell silent, and Stef wasn’t sure if she wanted him to say something. The light was deepening to crimson now, and he couldn’t think of any words at all.

“Sometimes I still wake up angry at him.” Vanissa didn’t sound angry, though; her voice was soft. “And sometimes I dream about when we were children. Little Tylendel and Staven tearing up and down the gardens throwing mud-balls at the gardeners. My bratty baby cousins. Honestly, Stav was always the more obnoxious one, but he could talk ‘Lendel into anything.” She scuffed her boot in the dirt. “He would’ve grown up all right, I think, if he’d had the chance. If my aunt and uncle had lived a few years longer… And there I go again, chasing might-have-beens.”

Her shoulders rose and fell. “So that’s all, Bard. No kind of heroic tale. Just the sort of pointless tragedy you get sooner or later when you put goddamned seventeen-year-old boys in charge of anything, I guess – may their souls rest in peace, I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, but seriously.” She wiped her eyes. “I confess, I didn’t expect to run my mouth off at you so much. You’re a very good listener. Is that another trick they teach you at Bardic?”

Stef struggled to find his voice. “Could be, ma’am.”

Vanissa turned back, away from the lavender-stained sunset. “See that tree?” It was a pine, but gnarled and twisted, not tall and straight like the others Stef had passed. “It’s a type of pine where the seeds will only sprout after a fire. Seems fitting, somehow. Sometimes I feel like that goddamned tree.” A pause. “We’re missing supper. Let’s get back before it’s dark.”

His feet seemed to have rooted to the spot. _Move. Come on._ He unglued himself, and offered her his arm.


	5. Chapter Five

_Freezing wind, whistling in the mouth of the pass–_

_“Herald Vanyel.”_

_“Leareth.”_

(It had been only a few days since the last dream. Vanyel was relieved, but he hoped they wouldn’t continue at this tempo – he wanted to debrief with Yfandes afterwards, so it would inevitably ruin his sleep for the rest of the night.)

_They met in the middle of the ice, and Vanyel took his turn to raise a wind-block around them. Leareth summoned a heat-spell, and then sat opposite him. Still, waiting._

_“So,” Vanyel said. “I don’t really know what the right questions are, yet – I don’t have the faintest idea how you’re even intending to do this. I’m hoping that you’ll help me out, there. One of my concerns, though, is that I can’t imagine you’ve actually tested your theory – not if it takes killing millions of people for blood-magic to test it. If it turns out that it’s incomplete, and something goes wrong, do you have any way of stopping?”_

_“A very good question.” Leareth smiled thinly. “I will clarify that this is not an instantaneous process. There will be multiple steps, with different levels of power needed. In the early stages, the godlet will not yet outpower an Adept mage, much less a hundred such, and we will have a chance to assess whether it is safe before we bring it to greater-than-human power, much less the power of a full god.”_

(Somehow he hadn’t even considered that. Why not?)

_“Could you do even it more slowly, then?” he said. “The reason you wanted blood-magic is that it’s possible to have that many people nearby enough to access quickly. But if it’s in stages anyway, couldn’t you wait longer between each, and power it entirely from nodes?”_

_“If I were willing to have it take a century.” A faint flicker of Leareth’s eyelids. “Once it is begun, the other gods of the world will most certainly try to interfere. Completing the process in weeks to months minimizes the window when they can do so.”_

_“That makes sense, I suppose.”_

(He was wondering now if there was a different way to ‘store up’ the energy equivalent of ten million deaths. Could one of Urtho’s weapons that released pure mage-energies be repurposed for it? Or maybe there was a version of the smaller artifact that released mage-energies rather than ordinary heat and light. Hellfires, how many Adept-strength Final Strikes would it take? A lot, but surely much less than ten million, and mages willingly sacrificing themselves to the cause seemed very slightly more palatable.)

_“How would you decide whether to abort?” Vanyel went on. “No, actually, first – what’s your actual plan for instilling this baby god with the right values?”_

_A long pause._

_“I will come to that,” Leareth said finally. “There are many pieces I must explain first, and I will need to start with some background theory before we can cover specifics. Is that acceptable to you?”_

_Vanyel nodded; he didn’t see that he had much choice._

_Leareth raised a hand. A glowing line appeared on the ice wall, forming a box – a moment later, words as well, in neat Valdemaran script._

_“To start,” Leareth said, “what are the values we wish for? That is not a simple question at all. Herald Vanyel, tell me, how many words do you think it would take to describe the concept of what is ‘good’? Not merely to gesture at it, but to lay it out fully?”_

_Vanyel opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again._

(If Leareth was posing the question at all, it was because he thought the answer was surprising – and Vanyel thought he could see what the man was pointing at. No, it wasn’t obvious at all. Even when he had talked about ethics with Savil, who shared so much context with him, trying to convey the nuances was hard – and they were both Heralds, educated on the same books, already sharing all the right words and concepts. Trying to have that conversation with a being that lived and thought in a completely different way at all, much less an unformed infant god, seemed very daunting.)

_“A lot,” he said. “I think I can see the problem. Even if we can agree that, say, the most important thing is that people are safe and can live their lives happily, there are a lot of possible disagreements about what that means. Like, oh, whether it’s acceptable to do things to people without their consent, even if they really will be safer and happier as a result.”_

_“Yes.” Leareth’s head tilted slightly into an approving nod. “And we wish for more in our world than safety and happiness. A world where all people were locked in secured rooms and given drugs to feel bliss seems abhorrent, even if they walked into those rooms willingly.”_

_Vanyel shuddered. “Yes.”_

(And he could see what Leareth meant – that might in fact be a world where people were safer, and happier by a certain definition of ‘happy’, than most other scenarios. So why did it feel so wrong…?)

_“Freedom,” he said. “People care about having the ability to make their own choices. And, I mean, I think many people want to accomplish something with their lives, to do real things that matter, even if they’re sometimes not as happy in the moment-to-moment. Like having children – I mean, being sleep-deprived with an infant is no one’s idea of a good time, but I think abolishing babies would make a lot of people upset.”_

_“Very true.” Leareth raised his hand again, and more words appeared, branching from the initial box. “There are other values we care about. Friendship and love. Justice, fairness. The power to create – a world without art and music would seem empty. And much, much more.” A pause. “Naming all that we value in our own language would fill a treatise, and it is still not enough. You and I understand what ‘happiness’ means, or ‘freedom’ – human minds are similar to one another, and we need only point vaguely at a concept so that the other will recognize it. Even that often goes wrong, as I am sure you know. A god is a being far more intelligent and powerful than us, with an alien mind, that perceives reality in ways we cannot comprehend. Even a small loss in translation might lead to an outcome we consider monstrous, and so we must find a way of being very specific.”_

_Vanyel nodded. “That makes sense, I think.”_

_“There is a concept I will cover in more detail later,” Leareth said. “It is very, very difficult to implement, and explaining how I will do so will require many other building blocks that I have not yet conveyed. However, the simple version. One might define ‘good’ to our hypothetical god such that it would take what those humans who currently live would wish for, if the following held true: they had all of the information about the world, they could hold it in their minds and consider all of the arguments, and they had perfect self-awareness and self-discipline. To the extent that this formed a coherent picture, the god would use it to define ‘good’. This evades the problem with using our current best guess at an ideal world, which is that we might be wrong. Many past civilizations have been, after all, and we would not wish to fix our imperfect values in place for all time.”_

_Vanyel nodded. “…I mean, I see the problem. I’m not sure I understand your solution.”_

(It was a hazy shape in his mind, and ‘difficult to implement’ didn’t cover it; he couldn’t see how it was possible at all. It was such a weird question, that fed back on itself, hard even to think about. If Leareth thought it was possible, Vanyel was willing to extend some faith, but he was very much hoping there would be a more in-depth explanation later.)

_“We will return to it,” Leareth said. “I will speak of other difficulties. One. It is a mathematical reality of the world that the naive maximum of any given quality – happiness, say – is likely to be found in a world-state that is extreme and bizarre, and often one that fails to capture other qualities we also value. Another difficulty is that often, in measuring our success, we use a stand-in for the quality we wish to increase; we have spoken of this before in the context of ‘A Lesson on Lessons’. A test is not the same thing as the student’s knowledge, given that in order to be practical, it must be short and thus cover only a small sample. It is a proxy, and in ordinary usage it may be a very good one – but in the extremes, if we imagine that every student’s score on such a test was a matter of life and death and they might spend ten years preparing, it becomes the case that the students will focus on preparing in a way that no longer adds to their general knowledge, and so the test will no longer measure that what we originally cared about knowing. Do you understand the risk here?”_

_“I think so.” Vanyel frowned. “You would be giving the students an incentive to…not exactly cheat, but to focus more on the answers the teacher wants than on learning the material for its own sake. If you gave a being that was smarter and more powerful than you that incentive, it would be much better at, well, tricking you.”_

_“Yes.” A slight smile. “That is a different but related point. We must, at all costs, avoid creating a god that in its early stages tries to deceive us – to predict our responses and give the answers that will cause us to believe it is aligned with our values when in fact it is not. This is a difficult design problem. In particular, continued existence is a common desire for all beings that have goals. Even if we were to create our infant god to have no innate fear of death or nonexistence, it would soon be clever enough to realize that it can only work towards those goals we have given it if it continues to live, and thus fear-of-death would emerge naturally, and with it a strong incentive to say and do whatever was necessary that its creators would not kill it.”_

(That was a very interesting point, that seemed incredibly obvious in hindsight, but it wasn’t the main thing Vanyel had noticed – it was Leareth’s use of the word ‘we’ that caught his attention. He couldn’t decide if the man had fallen into it accidentally, revealing an assumption that Vanyel would end up working with him, or if it was a deliberate slip intended to have him believing that. Trying to have a conversation with someone smarter and more powerful who might have reason to deceive him was a problem not limited to baby gods.) 

_“This is a problem,” Leareth went on, “because I expect the initial values instilled will not be exactly right, and will need to be modified. In fact, I anticipate needing to try the initial stages several times. Thus we need a being that will allow its goals to be modified by an outside force – and that is no trivial demand. Most goals do not work in this way. I will give an example to make this clearer. Currently, I imagine that you wish strongly not to kill other humans. If I were to offer you a medicine to drink, that would cause you to be unperturbed by murder, even if I offered a compelling explanation for why – would you wish to drink the potion?”_

_Vanyel shuddered. “No. That’s horrifying.”_

_“Exactly. A being that we have carelessly built, that has a goal of locking all humans in protected cages and keeping them blissfully drugged, will by default resist our attempts to modify it into something better suited to our aims. That is part of what holding a value means. Do you see that?”_

_“I think so.” Vanyel turned to glance at the wall, now decorated with a dozen glowing boxes and diagrams._

_“This is a very hard problem,” Leareth said. “I will gesture at a potential solution, and explain the details in time. We wish to build a being that is truly trying to accomplish the goals we have given it, but can also reason as though from an outside perspective – it should know that it is incomplete, that its builders were imperfect and may have made mistakes, and also that these creators still know more than it does of what ‘good’ means and may wish to correct it. It should wish to allow such corrections, because its true underlying goal is to come to understand what is meant by ‘good’. Even when it feels very confident that a certain action is correct, it should wish to run this by an outside force, and not be swayed by a prediction that this outside force will prevent it, nor try to deceive its makers by telling the most convincing version, even if its own internal reasoning says that this will best allow it to accomplish its current goals and values. Ultimately, it should hold something like philosophical uncertainty, and thus caution will emerge naturally, rather than being something we attempt to impose. Does this make sense to you in principle?”_

_Vanyel nodded._

(He could see why implementing it would be difficult. Even human children – Jisa in particular, when she was young – had a strong tendency to run straight for what they thought was right, and no matter if it meant being a little deceptive to the adults around them. That was one thing when the being in question was a seven-year-old throwing around her Projective Empathy, trying to convince everyone to stop eating animals, and quite difficult when a godlet had the power to reshape the entire world.)

_“In the early stages,” Leareth went on, “we might design the godlet such that it will check with its creators before taking any action. This does not scale, however. For one, it will not be long before its plans are incomprehensible to us, and forcing our young god to only take actions that make sense to our limited minds will hobble it greatly. The entire reason we wish to have such a god is that it will solve problems we cannot. We might give it heuristics to follow, such as minimizing the total side-effects when accomplishing a given goal – again, this is something that is intuitively obvious to us, but we should not assume it obvious at all to an alien mind. However, too great a degree of conservatism will also rule out too many actions that would be beneficial, and restrict us to a world too like the current one.” A pause. “Interestingly, it seems like such conservatism is a common strategy for those gods that exist already. They do meddle, but avoid drastic action. I am not entirely sure why, and this is something I wish to understand better before proceeding, but I do have a theory.”_

_Vanyel held up a hand. “Wait. Let me guess.” He closed his eyes._

(His memory of the last conversation with the Shadow-Lover was tugging as him. He hadn’t brought it up with Leareth yet, or really discussed it with anyone except Yfandes; it hadn’t initially seemed like the answers had been that informative. But it seemed related to this point, and so did his memories of the blue place, and whatever it was the Star-Eyed had showed him a glimpse of. A spreading tangle of silver threads, a vague picture and millions of sharper fragments…)

_“The material plane isn’t the gods ’native’ home,” he said. “That’s what the Shadow-Lover said to me, when I asked. And they can see the future, but not all of it at once – I guess that’s beyond even their minds. So I wonder if they’re doing something like we do with tests for students, using stand-ins to measure whether a plan is working, rather than looking at literally everything. If that’s the case, they would have a reason not to ‘try’ too hard, because that creates the conditions where the proxy-measurement doesn’t track the greater reality anymore. And…hmm. It makes me wonder if large interventions change too many pieces – if it destabilizes the future too much, makes it chaotic, so they can’t see all the ramifications.”_

_Leareth’s lips tugged into a smile again. “As I suspected. Yet again, I have learned something from you, Herald Vanyel. Thank you.” A pause. “My condolences on whatever befell you that gave you the opportunity for this conversation, and I hope you are recovered now.”_

_Vanyel ducked his head. “Thank you. It’s not that rare an occurrence in my life, really. I’m fine.” He closed his eyes, trying to think. “Another thing the Shadow-Lover said. I asked why the gods seem to care so much about humans and other thinking beings, and he said… ‘You are precious. Minds that think and feel, that love and laugh… It would not do to let that be squandered. I am here to watch over and protect.’” He lifted his head, watched Leareth’s face. “I don’t expect you to take that at face value. I didn’t either.”_

(Why did he bring it up at all? He wasn’t sure – but it was information, trustworthy or not, and it felt important.)

_Leareth’s black eyes were impassive. “I see. Thank you for passing this on.”_

* * *

It all seemed to have happened so fast.

Dara stood in her new bedroom in the main Heralds’ Wing, smiling at her reflection. Crisp new Whites, tailored to fit her perfectly – she was still leaner than she had been before the Tower. The face that looked back at her was a more adult face than she remembered, the last traces of baby fat gone.

Her eighteenth name day wouldn’t be until early autumn, and she was already a full Herald, and officially the King’s Own. The final tests had gone by in a blur.

Technically she outranked Vanyel now. What a bizarre thought. 

_:I am proud of you, Chosen:_ Rolan sent a wash of affection.

She was proud as well, almost bursting with it. And nervous, a little, but it didn’t really make sense to be. She still had all the support she could want.

Shavri had already come to congratulate her, and brought a celebratory vase of flowers, which was decorating her windowsill now, next to her little chava plant. The latter seemed to be flourishing, having acquired six more leaves and a couple of flowers.

The Heralds’ Wing – Tran still called it the ‘new’ wing even though it was twenty years old – was barely half full, and she had been able to tour all the available rooms and take her pick. Her new suite was huge, and felt very empty, with only the possessions she had moved over from her half of her student room. Well, she had her first stipend-packet today. Maybe she would go down to the market and buy some decorations.

She ran a hand through her hair, trimmed short again, and then turned away from the mirror.

It was a beautiful day outside, one of the first that really felt like summer. Tomorrow she would be fully in the swing of her duties – there was a Council meeting first thing, then she was supposed to be co-running an audience with Tantras – but today she had entirely to herself. She could do whatever she wanted. Go for a ride with Rolan…spar at the salle…

Tran.

He had been exempted from testing her, for obvious reasons, but he had been in the room when she was formally granted her Whites. Looking absolutely _delicious_ , it wasn’t even fair.

 _Maybe we shouldn’t,_ she had said to him over a year ago. _Because I am still technically a trainee, and that might make it weird._ Virtuously resisting temptation, even though it hadn’t seemed fair then either.

She wasn’t technically of age yet, but she was an adult in every single way that counted, damn it.

Maybe he wasn’t even interested anymore. Certainly he hadn’t been blushing every time he sneaked a look at her, like before she had left.

 _:Rolan?:_ she sent. _:What do you think?:_

Fond amusement. _:I think you should do as you please, Chosen:_ As usual, he refrained from giving her actual advice on personal matters.

Well, they were neighbours now, or almost – Tran’s room was just three doors down from hers. It would only be polite to go say hello. She adjusted her tunic a final time, slipped her feet into her soft indoor boots, and forged out into the hall.

Tran’s door was closed, but he had fairly light shielding, and she could sense the glow of his mind inside. She hesitated for a long time, and then knocked.

 _:Dara?:_ Surprise and pleasure in the overtones, and she heard his footsteps approach the door. There was no click of a bolt before the door opened – Tran never locked his door.

“It is you!” His smile lit up his whole face. “Sorry, I’m not quite dressed yet.” He had his trews on, but his shirt was still unlaced at the neck and his tunic was over one arm. It _absolutely_ wasn’t fair how good his muscles looked.

“I live here now.” Dara returned the grin.

“Well, come on in.” He gestured for her to follow him. “I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you personally yet. Good work.” He glanced back over his shoulder at her. “You’re an excellent King’s Own. Exactly the person Randi needs.” This time, his smile was tight and didn’t reach his eyes.

“Not as good as you, yet.” She could guess why it still bothered him. “I’ll do my best. Hope it’s still all right to come knock on your door when I’m stuck.”

“Of course. Always.”

She watched him as he stood by the window, fastening his shirt, then took a comb and dragged it through his hair. Her cheeks were warm; suddenly, she was feeling very shy.

 _Don’t be a coward._ She took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders. “Tran?”

“Yes?”

“Something I wanted to ask.” She swallowed. _Why is this so hard?_ Just spit it out. “I...still think you’re really attractive,” she blurted. “And I’m not a trainee anymore.” She outranked him, which was almost weirder. “I don’t think it’s, I mean, I don’t know if you’d want, just–” She couldn’t seem to look up from her boots. “I like you a lot. I’d be interested in…taking what we started further. If you were, I mean, I don’t want to put any pressure–”

“Stop.” His footsteps approached her. “Dara, of _course_ I’m interested. You’re incredible. Still, you’re half my age. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be with–”

“I’m sure,” she said determinedly, still avoiding his eyes. “I like _you_. And boys my age are terrible.” At least, the good ones were all taken. She couldn’t think why Tran didn’t already have a dozen suitors vying for his attention, but she wasn’t complaining.

“I wish I could, but I don’t know if it’s appropriate for me to–”

“Ask Delian,” Dara said. “Or, I don’t know, ask Randi if you really must.” She had tentatively floated the matter with Shavri, and gotten only amused approval. _If it’s what you want, go for it. You’ll be good for him._

“I don’t know, people might talk–”

“Then let them.” Dara folded her arms, and managed to lift her eyes to his face. All right, now she felt a little better – he was blushing just as hard as she was. “Who’s got time for that? Tran, I don’t know how many years we have. There’s probably a war coming. We might all _die_. If I was sure we had time to wait… But I don’t want one of my regrets to be putting off something I wanted because it might look bad.”

His face softened. “Gods. I know.”

She flung up her hands. “And who knows? Maybe it’ll turn out we’re horribly incompatible and it won’t even go anywhere.”

“True.” He laughed. “You’re always so straightforward, Dara. It’s one of my favourite things about you.” A pause. “Well, Delian seems to approve. So…”

Dara took a step towards him, and rested her finger on his lips. “Don’t need to debate it any further, then.” Watching his eyes widen made her heartbeat speed up. She took his shoulder with her other hand. _I’ve been waiting a whole damned year for this._

* * *

Sweating, breathing hard between his teeth, Vanyel laid down the final layer of the shield. Just a wisp of power – it felt like trying to thread a needle with gardening gloves on. _Now that’s a mental picture._

 _:Done:_ he sent. _:I think. Savil?:_

 _:Mmm?:_ She had been on the other side of the Work Room, one hand on her incomplete Gate-terminus, only half paying attention. _:Oh. Let me… That’s perfect. Good work, Van!:_

She sounded so genuinely enthusiastic and pleased; it was uncharitable of him to find it irritating. _I’m not a damned trainee._ His last three attempts at laying a permanent shield on the sample wooden screen Savil had brought in had been as clumsy as any apprentice-work, though.

“It’s hardly going to win any wars,” he said out loud.

“No, but at the beginning it took you five years to be this fine with your shielding. I’m not sure you remember how long control was an issue for anything delicate. This is progress, Van.”

A fair point.

She had set up a practice-curriculum for him, and it was almost all the sort of detailed work that took very little power. Not at all how his early training had gone. Still, Savil was right that he was building in different, better habits this time around. Inspired by some of Urtho’s work, he had been trying to keep the power in his spells to the bare minimum. He couldn’t manage anything with zero leakage, the Mage of Silence’s signature skill, but then again, Urtho had taken fifty years to perfect that level of control.

It would have been nice for them to have him working via the Web, but Savil had declared that he was only allowed to use his Sight there. Which was probably correct. His control was improving, but it was still unpredictable, and it didn’t take much of a distraction to throw him off. Working at a distance, that could be a huge problem, as he had discovered after Sunhame.

“I’ll swap you with Sandra to maintain the shielding at Healers’ tomorrow,” Savil said. “Anyway. Illusions next. What do you want to try for?”

People were the hardest. He had been able to summon an image of Urtho in the dream, when all he was controlling was dream-stuff and dream-magic; he was very curious if he would be able to manage it in the real world.

“Want to see what Urtho looked like?” he said.

Savil’s eyes lit up. “You can do that?”

He had talked through some of the dream with her, along with the most recent one, but apparently he hadn’t mentioned that part. “Well. We’ll see.” He raised his hands.

Form a column of light first, then solidify it into a hazy figure…

It took him ten minutes of concentrated work; he lost the illusion twice before completing it. That wasn’t happening as often anymore; he had consented to let Jisa cement in a couple of redirects that made it easier to stay on track, and Terrill had given him some useful advice. In fact, seeing Terrill had been a lot more helpful than he had been expecting, but he hadn’t gone back. It hadn’t seemed necessary. He was feeling surprisingly fine.

“That’s what he looked like?” Savil breathed.

“More or less.” Vanyel grimaced at the image hovering before them. He hadn’t quite gotten the eyes right. “Can I drop it now?” It didn’t hurt, exactly – his channels were fine, his reserves barely diminished – but the effort of focusing so hard was giving him a tension-headache.

“Go ahead. I think that’s all for now.” Savil took his arm. “And I’m done fiddling with the Gate. Let’s go have lunch.”

The Palace gardens were gloriously in flower, the sun beating down on them from a clear blue sky.

“I wonder how Stefen’s getting along on his Journeyman trial?” he said absently.

Savil chuckled. “Charming the socks off everyone he meets, I’m sure. The lad’s unbelievable.”

“Hope he won’t be away too much longer.” Vanyel was surprised by how often he thought of Stefen. “It’ll be good for Randi to have him back.”

“Very true.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes.

“How was the Circle meeting yesterday?” Vanyel said finally.

Savil glanced at him sharply. “Fine. Keiran’s still pushing for more intense war-preparation. Kilchas was deadly curious about whatever you discussed with Leareth last, but Randi held the line on that. We won’t push you to share all of it with everyone.” 

It was hard to read the expression in her eyes. “Do you think we’re right?” he said quietly. “To hold it this close to our chests, I mean.” 

“I don’t know.” She looked past him, at nothing in particular. “I mean, I do think I see his point, about some knowledge being dangerous to share.”

“That’s something Urtho would have agreed on as well.” With his world-destroying weapons, locked away so thoroughly that even Ma’ar had never known of their existence until it was too late – and something about that raised a flag in his mind. “Though I do question if Urtho made the right call, in terms of how closely he held his secrets. He might have made better decisions in the war if he’d been more willing to share what he knew with his advisors.”

“Mmm.” Savil pulled ahead, turning towards the dining-hall. “I do wonder how much knowledge died with him.”

Hopefully not the secret of gryphon reproduction; it had come to mind a few more times, tinged with sadness. Vanyel remembered Urtho’s abandoned, untouched workroom, benches with projects half-finished, only the coating of dust to show he hadn’t simply stepped out to use the privy. _Everyone dies in the middle of something._

A good note-to-self that he really ought to write down more of the work he had done with the Web. There were so many little quirks he had gotten used to working with, the knowledge implicit in his mind and difficult to drag out into words – but, even if the threat of Leareth hadn’t been on the horizon, someday his duties would have to pass on to someone else. _:’Fandes? Don’t let me forget, please:_

“I want to talk it over a bit more with you, though,” he said out loud. “Just the weird theory of ethics part.” He had taken Leareth’s injunction against sharing dangerous knowledge very seriously, but that part alone didn’t seem risky. “Make sure I’m not missing something blindingly obvious.”

“Of course.” A brief flicker of a smile. “I’m busy all afternoon. Tonight?”

“I was going to have supper with Shavri and Jisa. After that?”

“Of course.” Her shoulders were a little tense, but she wouldn’t let her discomfort stop him, he thought. She was trying so hard; lately, he could share almost everything on his mind with her.

And absolutely everything with Yfandes.

 _:’Fandes?:_ he prodded. _:Can we go over it again this afternoon? Maybe right before I have tea with Medren:_

A wash of love. _:Anytime, Chosen:_

* * *

“You wanted to see me?” Natti said, standing in Savil’s doorway.

“Yes. Please come in.” It had been weeks, and she had finally gotten around to inviting the elderly woman over – well, most of the delay had been in getting around to convincing Randi that she could be trusted, or at least that it was worth taking the risk. “There’s something I wanted to show you.”

“Oh?” Natti followed her inside, curiosity in her eyes. “Is it something my grandson did, by any chance?” 

“No, actually. He’s been making a little progress – I can fill you in after. Does he tell you much about his lessons?”

“Not really.” A frown. “I think he has absorbed the Mavelan belief that magic is terribly secret. His parents never spoke about it at home.”

“Mmm.” That seemed plausible to Savil. “I’ll remind him it doesn’t work like that here.” Not that she expected it to do any good – for one, Arkady was clearly in the phase of adolescence where the idea of telling relatives about his life was deeply offensive. “Anyway. Stay there, feel free to grab some tea or wine. I’ll go fetch it.”

The letter-copies that Vanyel had given her were in her spare bedroom, which she mostly used as a study, locked in a drawer of the wardrobe. Savil disarmed several layers of protective magic before retrieving the key from its hiding-place, an urn above the mantle.

Natti was sitting at her table when she returned, pouring herself a cup of watered wine. “Some for you as well?”

“Please. My cup is somewhere…” She had been nursing it while she looked at Dara’s revised circuit deployments for the north. “Oh. Here. I’ve gotten so absentminded.”

“Happens to all of us eventually.” A crooked smile. “What’s this?”

Savil held it out of reach. “First. I think I already mentioned this, but what you’re about to see is a state secret. You mustn’t speak of it to anyone. Can you promise me that?”

A long pause, then a nod. “Yes. I give you my word.”

It wasn’t an oath under Truth Spell, but it was good enough for Savil. She doubted the contents of Ma’ar’s letters had been that sensitive even at the time, if he had been willing to send them with a courier, and any secrets were two millennia out of date now; besides, Natti wouldn’t be able to put much together from a one-sided conversation where she knew nothing of the context. “Here. Have a look.”

Natti brought the sheaf of papers close to her face, squinting; Savil had already noticed that the woman was fairly nearsighted. She was silent for a long time.

“Where did you find this?” she said finally, her voice sharp.

“In a very old archive, a long way from here.” Trustworthy or not, Savil had no intention of letting Natti learn the full truth about Urtho’s Tower. “This is a copy.”

“Ah.” Natti leaned back in her chair.

“It means something to you,” Savil said. “Can you read it?”

“Not exactly.” Natti was frowning, but her eyes were alight with curiosity. “I can read the script, and the syntax is comprehensible enough. It may be an archaic dialect of our formal language of government.”

“Language of government?”

A smile. “The Eastern Empire has expanded to many regions. Not all of them shared a common tongue, and the language spoken by common people in the day-to-day shifts over time. All of our governing documents are in a standard language, however, which means it changes less over time. I read our Imperial Law charter in my studies, which was written around fifteen hundred years ago.” A pause. “This is older, I would guess. It reads more like the work of the First Founders, from before it was properly an Empire at all, and it appears to be full of loan-words. This one, ‘soytraykoth’ – not a sound-combination you see in our language at all.”

 _That’s because it’s a Tayledras word._ Or close to it, anyway. It sounded like a mangled version of the word she would translate in Valdemaran as ‘gullible fool’. The difference in pronunciation could be because it was a Kaled’a’in root word, transcribed two thousand years ago into a phonetic trade-tongue script that both Ma’ar and Urtho had shared, read by a woman who didn’t speak the original language at all.

“Can you translate it?” Savil said. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be complete – even if all you can manage is to write out the sentence structure and transcribe the words you don’t recognize phonetically in Valdemaran script, that could help us a lot.” It might be even better – she could bring the result to Van, who spoke Shin’a’in fluently as well as Tayledras, and they could try to figure out the borrowed words that way, without Natti needing to know all of it. Information control.

Natti bent her head. “I cannot promise anything, but I will of course try.”

* * *

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Kilchas said softly.

Vanyel backed away from the telescope’s eyepiece. To his surprise, he was blinking away tears. “It is.”

He had been very surprised when the older Herald-Mage invited him his astronomy-tower. It was a warm, clear night with very little wind, ideal for stargazing.

Kilchas nudged him aside and took his turn at the large telescope. “Somehow things feel so much clearer up here,” he said, his other eye squeezed shut. “I can always think better.”

“I’ve noticed the same.” A flicker of unwanted memory. _Standing at the top of the belltower, so much open space around him, a step more and there would be nothing under his feet–_

But there were other memories as well.

 _I look at the stars,_ Leareth had said, _and I remember that there are so many lights in the world, who are worth saving, and we cannot save all of them – from the very beginning, it was too late to save all of them – but we can still save some. It is never too late for that._

“Wanted to talk about something,” Kilchas said.

 _Here it comes._ Vanyel had been expecting this was about more than just looking at the stars together. “Yes?”

He stepped back from the telescope, straightening up. “Do you think we’ve really got any chance? Of an alliance, I mean.”

Vanyel lifted both hands to his temples. _:Kilchas, can we please not talk about this out loud where anyone could hear us?:_

 _:You know there’s no one nearby:_ But Kilchas followed his lead anyway, switching to Mindspeech. Vanyel watched as he rested one hand on his little glass-roofed hut, tipping his head back, moonlight highlighting the wrinkles and crags of his face in silver. _:Well?:_

Vanyel looked away. _:I don’t know. Kilchas, I think he’s trying to do the right thing:_ Trying harder than anyone ever had before, maybe. _:But you know that’s not enough. And…it’s not just about what I think:_

 _:That’s true, boy, that’s true:_ Kilchas ran a hand through his stringy grey hair. _:What do you think of how Randi’s handling all this?:_

It didn’t feel like it was really his place to talk about it, but if Kilchas was asking… _:Incredibly well. He has a lot of responsibilities to balance, I can’t imagine how much pressure he’s under, but he’s bearing it gracefully:_ Based on Savil’s reports, it sounded like he was doing a remarkable job of wrestling the Senior Circle into something of a united front, in the face of a horrifying and incredibly divisive issue.

 _:I thought so too:_ Satisfaction in Kilchas’ mindvoice. _:Really goes to show you can get used to anything. I didn’t sleep through the night for weeks, when I first heard. Now it’s just part of our lives:_

Vanyel nodded. _:I know what you mean:_ It had felt like nothing would ever be the same – and it wasn’t, but it had become the new normal.

A new normal where he was still left out of sensitive meetings. Worse, where he could entirely see the justification for it.

 _:I hate war:_ Kilchas’ mindvoice was distant, almost wistful. _:So much of the time that people end up killing each other, it’s for damned stupid reasons. Don’t you think it’s a waste?:_

 _:Gods, I know:_ They had both been there, out on the front lines – hells, Kilchas might have had it worse, he hadn’t learned to cast at a distance until late in the war. He had fought his battles face-to-face.

_:You know, I never thought it would work out, with Karis. Not when we’d been murdering each other’s people for years. But Randi was right to believe in her. Still feels like a miracle:_

The overtones in his mindvoice were… Vanyel didn’t even have a word for it, he had never heard Kilchas sound like this.

Then again, he had never really seen the Kilchas who came up on this roof nearly every night just to study the sky. It felt like he understood the man so much better now. Why he needed a peaceful hobby like astronomy, when he had spent so much of his career as a Herald setting things on fire. Not a contradiction after all; it made perfect sense.

Kilchas raised his hand, gestured broadly. _:We’re all under the same sky, you know? We’re all just people, and we’ve got one world to share. What’s the point in destroying it fighting one another?:_ Then his arm dropped to his side, and he smiled sheepishly. _:Sorry. I’m getting a little sentimental:_

 _:I don’t mind:_ His eyes were burning again.

Kilchas swiped at his face. _:I read all your Urtho’s journals, you know. The last one, gods, it made me cry. Knowing that maybe the Cataclysm only happened because of a goddamned misunderstanding…:_ He shuddered, hugging himself. _:Urtho didn’t see any other way. Neither did Ma’ar. Neither of them wanted it – but, well, when I was out there throwing fireballs at Karsites, it was the last thing I wanted to be doing. Don’t you think I wished there was a different path?:_ A long pause. _:And there was, but I’d never have seen it on my own. Didn’t have the imagination. I don’t know where I’m going with this, Van, just… It’d be a damned shame to get caught repeating history:_

Vanyel’s breath caught. _:Kilchas, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of:_

Kilchas took a step towards the parapet. _:Maybe there’s no way to avoid war. He’s done terrible things. Sending our agents to murder our Herald-Mages. Supplying bandits who rape children. That godawful artifact that killed the Remoerdis family. Just…:_ His hands clenched. _:I’ve done awful things too, in the name of Valdemar. I tell myself that was different, but maybe it wasn’t:_

 _:He wants to slaughter ten million people for blood-power:_ Vanyel reminded him. _:I don’t realistically think we could ever ally with him while that’s still his plan:_ And it was still so incredibly confusing, trying to reconcile that with the man who talked about lights in the world, worth saving. Like double vision; it made him dizzy to think about. Sometimes, in glimpses, Leareth’s view almost made sense – he could imagine that ten million lives really wasn’t that much, in the scope of what was possible – and he would flinch away from it, not sure whether to be horrified at himself.

 _:Maybe we can offer him a better way:_ Kilchas glanced at him; in the moonlight, his eyes looked as black as Leareth’s. _:That’s what Randi’s putting on you, isn’t it? You’re the only one who can avoid war, now, if you can convince Leareth to do something else:_

Vanyel looked away. _:I’m trying my best:_

 _…_ And maybe this time around, he would be the one who betrayed Leareth, turning on him without warning. Suddenly, he desperately wanted to change the topic. _:Kilchas, I heard you and Sandra…?:_

It had been the right question. A smile spread across the man’s face – it made him look like a mischievous wood-sprite. _:Me and Sandra:_ The overtones were of definite smugness, a hint of boyish delight. _:She’s incredible, you know:_

 _:I’m happy for you:_ And he was. Somehow they would never have occurred to him as a match, but now he couldn’t think why not. They had to suit each other very well; both of them were so engaged in their work, uninterested in politics. Or tact.

Maybe that was why Kilchas seemed different than he remembered. Still stubborn, forthright, but there was a softness that hadn’t been there before. It brought a pang to his chest, that he gently folded away. There was no reward in being jealous, or resenting what Kilchas had. In the middle of all the horrors, he had found something precious. _I can be happy for them._

* * *

**Heralds’ Archives - SECRET**

_Description: Letter from_ **_Adept Kiyamvir Ma’ar_ ** _of Predain to_ **_Urtho,_ ** _Archmage to King Leodhan of Tantara, also known as the Mage of Silence, approximately 2 years before the Cataclysm_

_Source: [REDACTED]_

_Age of original: circa 1000 years before the Founding_

_Date translated: 807 A.F._

_Underlined sections_ _are as translated by Natti Ermane_

_Annotations by Herald-Mage Vanyel in_ **_bold_ ** _refer to likely Kaled’a’in loanwords, translated based on modern Shin’a’in and Tayledras_

_Uncertainty of translation is marked in [ ], unknown words as ____

_Please note that this translation is highly speculative_

Dear Urtho

I [hope/expect/desire] this missive finds you in **the best of(1)** health. I would be [pleased/grateful] to know of ___(2) that has caught your [interest/curiosity/fancy].

I [ask if] you have heard of my ___(3). It does not equal yours, but **there are many ways(4)**. I [hope/expect] you do not see it as an ___(5) to your work, or worse yet a threat. I **reassure you(6)** , I have only [respect/fear] for your [skill/knowledge/strength], which is greater than mine. You are [always/certainly] my **friend(7)** and **teacher(8)** and I have no [expectation/desire] to be **enemies(9)**. Yours is a ___(10) Kingdom and I am no **fool(11)**.

We have [pacified/conquered] the lands to the east, and we have the first ___(12). Historically, seven out of ten **children(13)** have died before the age of ten. I hope to see much [happier/kinder] ___(14) in a year.

I have not **forgotten(15),** and I wish to [repeat/extend] my previous **offer(16)** , that we might ___(17) an **alliance(18)** between our two ___(19). Together, we might **go onward(20)** , and the **world(21)** can be **safer(22)**.

Ever your ___(23),

Ma’ar

(1) ‘foh shavrah’, likely related to modern Shin’a’in _for'shava_ , “very good”

(2) Unknown; from context, possibly ‘research’ or ‘studies’

(3) Unknown; from context may refer to Great Working; timing is right to refer to Makaar working, in comparison to Urtho’s gryphons

(4) ‘vay daytha’, translated as _vai’datha_ , modern Shin’a’in expression of resignation or agreement, literal translation “there are many ways”

(5) Unknown; may be related to root of Hardornen word for ‘insult/offense’

(6) ‘duh dar’, translated as _du'dera_ , modern Shin’a’in “offer comfort”

(7) ‘tay forth’, translated as _te'sorthene_ , modern Shin’a’in “heart-friend”

(8) ‘ha shana’, translated as _ha’shin_ , modern Shin’a’in honorific for a teacher

(9) ‘Joh stam’, translated as _jostumal_ , modern Shin’a’in “enemy”, literally “one desiring your blood”

(10) Unknown; from context, likely a positive attribute

(11) ‘soyt raykoth’, translated as _so'trekoth_ , ‘fool, gullible’

(12) Unknown; from context, likely a term for census-data

(13) ‘talhay’, similar to Shin’a’in prefix _tale_ , meaning ‘children’

(14) Unknown; different from (12), but likely another word meaning ‘numbers’ or ‘figures’

(15) ‘varthand’, translated as _var'athanda_ , “to be forgetful of”

(16) ‘Yoothay sokar’, translated as _yuthi'so'coro_ , “courtesy”

(17) Unknown; possibly ‘sign’ or ‘draft’ from context

(18) ‘shayn soka’, possibly related to prefix _shena_ , “of the clan”; in context, this most likely refers to a formal alliance between two nations

(19) Unknown; from context, presumably ‘nations’ or ‘kingdoms’

(20) ‘kaylay’, translated as _kele_ , “to go onward”

(21) ‘vega’; possibly related to ‘Velgarth’, Tayledras (and Rethwellani) for ‘the world’

(22) ‘saydala’, translated as _sadullos_ , “safer”

(23) Unknown; could be ‘colleague’, ‘student’, ‘friend’


	6. Chapter Six

Jisa thought that Papa’s dining-table felt very full, set for ten. Randi was at the head, Vanyel at his left and Shavri at his right. Dara and Tantras were sitting next to each other, and Jisa was pretty sure everyone could tell that they were holding hands under the table, but no one had said anything to point it out. She knew Papa didn’t exactly approve of them seeing each other, even if it was clearly making both of them happy.

Kilchas and Sandra were sitting together as well, on Jisa’s side of the table; as usual, Kilchas was downright sappy with his affections, and Sandra was lost in thought and fending him off with a mix of indulgent fondness and occasional annoyance. Jisa liked watching them. She still felt proprietary pride whenever she noticed them being sweet together.

Savil, at the foot of the table, was sitting back with her second glass of wine, trying to engage Kilchas in a side conversation about something to do with the Web. Jisa was next to her mother, directly opposite Treven, who was seated next to Vanyel. Usually Treven paid a lot of attention to her, which was flattering even if it was still a bit confusing, but today he was thoroughly distracted by her father’s presence.

Vanyel. Her father. It still sent a wave of nameless emotion through her every time she thought about it. For once, he seemed to genuinely be having a good time – he was relaxed, smiling, his hands animated.

“You really think I did well?” Treven’s voice was almost plaintive.

“I do.” Vanyel clapped Treven on the shoulder. “Nodding and smiling in silence is exactly the right thing to do, much of the time. Makes you look wise, even if it’s really because you haven’t the faintest idea what to say.”

Jisa bit down on a giggle. Treven had been sitting in on Council meetings for a while now – not in the King’s spot, of course, but next to Tran. Jisa had gathered that he didn’t have to participate very much, yet, he was supposed to be soaking it in.

“What did you think of Lord Kathar’s little speech?” Vanyel was saying now.

Treven’s blue eyes widened. “About the levies in the north? I guess he makes a good point. We’re asking his people’s holding to give up armsmen when there’s still quite a lot of banditry happening. I know that’s exactly _why_ we want those men for the North March, because we think it’s more efficient to crack down on the bandit activity at the source, but that’s going to take time, and in the meantime some of those landholdings really will be worse off.” He tugged at his blond queue. “It’s arguably in his selfish interest in the longer term, but of course he’ll push to get those men from somewhere else, and then his people get the best of both worlds.”

“Very astute.” Vanyel was nodding, smiling. “And what would you suggest we do about it?”

Treven’s eyes flashed to Jisa for a moment; she wasn’t sure why he was looking at her, it wasn’t like she knew the answer either. “Um, the obvious thing is to offer some other sort of concession. Like, um…” he chewed his lip for a moment, “cutting the grain-tax?”

“Do you think that would be a good idea?”

Treven fidgeted. “Maybe? I mean, my impression is that we don’t get much in that area anyway, since their growing-season is shorter than down south. Even if we reduced it by a large percentage, it wouldn’t be as much in absolute terms, but it might seem like a token of good faith.”

“And the downsides?”

Again, Treven shot Jisa a plaintive glance. She tried to smile encouragingly. Vanyel was so good at controlling his expression, it was no wonder Treven couldn’t tell, but Jisa knew he was pleased.

“It’s harder politically to increase taxes than decrease them,” Treven said finally. “So we might cause ourselves problems if there’s a drought in the south or something and we end up with a grain-shortage.”

“Very good.” Vanyel was nodding approvingly. “So, why don’t we lay out the pros and cons here…”

Candlemarks later, they had retired to Randi’s sitting-room. It was past her usual bedtime, but Mother hadn’t said anything, and Jisa was trying not to draw attention to it by yawning. She had been vaguely listening to Kilchas and Sandra having one of their conversations about mage-craft that sounded like an argument but wasn’t; Kilchas would make a point, hands waving in the air, and Sandra would quietly snipe at him. Treven was hovering on the edges, watching closely, clearly trying hard to follow.

 _:Copper for your thoughts, Jisa?:_ Vanyel’s mindvoice, and she felt the sofa shift slightly as he settled next to her.

_:Just watching Treven try to decide if they’re fighting:_

A mental chuckle, though Vanyel’s lips didn’t even twitch. _:I’ve been very impressed by him:_ he sent a moment later. _:He’s what, fourteen? And already holding his own:_

Jisa nodded, trying not to smirk _:He’s very clever, isn’t he?:_ Funny, how that made her feel proud – it wasn’t like she could take credit for it. Though she had certainly given him all the hints she could; a year after her bedtime story-routine with Randi had mostly turned into bedtime conversations about Valdemaran politics, she often knew what sort of answer he was hoping for.

 _:Certainly:_ Vanyel rested a hand on her shoulder, and Jisa leaned against him, not quite cuddling. _:You know:_ Vanyel sent a moment later _:I think he might fancy you a little:_

 _:What?:_ Jisa made a face. _:Ew:_

 _:You don’t like the idea?:_ Vanyel’s mindvoice was gentle, curious.

Jisa wasn’t sure – it made her feel confused and hot in her chest, and her cheeks wanted to blush. _:I don’t know. It’s weird!:_

 _:Humans are very strange that way, it’s true:_ He was smiling now. _:Could be I’m wrong, and he just respects the hell out of you. The way anyone ought to, really. You’re a pretty rare and wonderful person, Jisa:_

That did make her blush. She could only hope that it wasn’t too noticeable in the candlelight.

* * *

_In the center of a frozen wasteland, walls of packed snow sheltered out the wind, and served as a canvas for words marked in false illusion-magic–_

_“Sorry,” Vanyel said. “I didn’t follow that. Can you back up a bit?”_

_Leareth’s face showed neither surprise nor disappointment. “Of course. As I was saying, it will inevitably become difficult to interpret a young god’s process or thinking, as they become more different from us…”_

(Again, it had been about two weeks since the last dream. He had talked over its contents with Yfandes for many candlemarks, and discussed a few of the pieces with Savil and Randi; he understood it as much as he was ever going to, he thought.)

_“This is why there are both advantages and dangers to basing our initial god-seed more closely on a human mind,” Leareth was saying. “As I have explained, in the path I have chosen, it will be necessary to allow the godlet to modify itself after a certain point.” He paused and waited, black eyes like still water._

_“Right. The point at which it will make better choices about changes to itself than the mortals supervising it are capable of?”_

_A fractional nod._

_Vanyel played his eyes over the diagrams on the wall again. “And because that’s how we avoid baking in a set of imperfect values forever – by letting the young god adapt and change. But there are bad changes as well as good ones, so it opens up more risk.” He closed his eyes, thinking. “Er, can you explain again why you don’t want to just stop at an earlier stage, when the godlet is more intelligent and capable than us, but still comprehensible and possible to contain?”_

_Leareth was silent for a long time. “In an ideal world,” he said finally, “I would for a time. In this world, however, the final steps have already happened elsewhere – there exist powerful gods that are not aligned with our goals.”_

_“They’re not entirely opposed either,” Vanyel pointed out._

_“Perhaps not. Nonetheless, this is not a case where our young godlet would be allowed to grow up slowly in safety. Which is unfortunate, but is a constraint I must work within.”_

(Something still seemed off to Vanyel – he wasn’t sure what, but it felt like Leareth had thought through to that conclusion a very long time ago, and none of the later information had changed it. If he were to reason it out from first principles now, with the knowledge Vanyel had shared with him about the Shadow-Lover and the Star-Eyed, would he have come to a different answer? Maybe not. Still, it niggled.)

_“All right, I’m following you up to that point,” he said. “Go on.”_

_“There is a new concept I wish to introduce,” Leareth said. “I will explain the intuitive version before going into any maths.” A pause. “Imagine a being. It thinks in a particular way, and wishes for a particular outcome – for now, let us imagine a very simple goal, such as painting all of the pebbles in the world blue. Now, imagine that this being has the ability to modify its own mind, in order to become more powerful and capable. In the most basic sense, it is no longer a stable entity – it will not remain the same over time. However, from a higher perspective, there is a sense in which it is stable if it will only accept changes that hold its goal-structure and preferences constant. We might call this type of stability ‘reflective’, because given the ability to reflect and choose freely, the being will elect to remain the same in this particular regard, though it may change in others ways.”_

_Vanyel nodded. “I…think I followed that.” Mostly. “What does that have to do with human mind-structures?”_

_Leareth raised his hand again, marking out another box on the wall. “Human minds – and the minds of other beings of similar intelligence, such as hertasi – are stable in a certain sense, but it is not clear that this stability holds up in the face of greater ability to change oneself. In fact, by default people do not have goals that are fixed and internally consistent, and are not even aware of this fact.” A pause. “Stability can be maintained, perhaps, if an outside force pushes through a certain change and fixes it in place. I would say that your Companions are an example of this – they are very clearly based on the template of a human mind, with certain changes made. That structure was most likely chosen by a god or several, and they do not go on to change it themselves.” The faintest flicker of an eyelid. “Usually, that is.”_

_“Mmm. Yfandes is an interesting exception to that rule.”_

(He had spent a long time going back and forth with her on whether he ought to share this particular story with Leareth, and they had eventually decided in favour. It seemed extremely relevant, and Yfandes seemed to have a hunch in favour of it – Vanyel wasn’t sure if that came from the blue place or just from her own vague gut feeling.)

_“Yes.” A hint of a smile. “It seems that perhaps, given sufficient pressure, that god-granted stability no longer holds.”_

_Vanyel glanced down at his hands. “I can give you my interpretation of what happened, though neither of us is sure exactly how it worked. Yfandes had several values that were written into what she is, at a very deep level. One of them was to be loyal to me, her Chosen – that’s a very basic fact of how Companions work – and one of them was to be in line with a set of values or rules that’s somewhat opaque to her, but seems to mostly align with common-sense morality. Something that felt to her like a bright line that couldn’t be crossed; there were concepts on the other side of it that she couldn’t even think about. When the things I was saying started to cross that bright line, it was like part of her didn’t recognize me on the other end of our bond, and part of her still did, and there was a contradiction there that was tearing her apart. So…I guess she stared at it for a while, and the bright line was the part that broke.”_

_“I see.” Leareth’s face gave away nothing. “What I take from that is that her mind is not intended to be malleable, and yet given a particular set of pressures, a sufficient change in how she understood the world and her part in it, it was possible to shift an aspect without shattering all of it, and find a new stable equilibrium.” A pause. “This leads in well to what I would speak of next.”_

_“I need a minute first,” Vanyel said. He had quickly learned to ask for that._

(It was an interesting thought, that Yfandes was – had been – actually less malleable than a human mind. Savil had been horrified when she learned the truth, but even though it had been so much more of a shock to her than Yfandes, she had been able to bend with it. Yfandes hadn’t, because the non-human part of her mind, or at least one of the parts, hadn’t been flexible enough. He hadn’t considered until now that if she had been built any more rigid, trying to deal with that contradiction might have broken her mind completely. Which, come to think of it, might have been the preferred outcome for the god that had made her.)

_“Go on,” he said finally._

_Leareth’s chin moved in a slight nod. “I would like to make a distinction, now, between the stability of a decision process, and consistency of outcomes. What I call reflective stability applies only to the former, and does not guarantee the latter.” A pause. “We do not fully understand reality – what we can perceive is limited, and so is what we can fit into our minds. At some point, as it becomes more powerful, a rising god will inevitably have new information, and it may be the case that they have exactly the decision-process we wished for, and it is stable in the face of other changes, and yet as new possibilities appear to it, it may nonetheless take an action that is very surprising and not at all what we wanted.” A pause. “It would be very unfortunate if this was how we came to learn that our theory of ethics was incomplete – at the point when it would quite possibly be too late to abort.”_

_Vanyel shivered. “That makes sense.” And was completely terrifying._

_“In particular,” Leareth went on, “one threat is that the godlet realizes, before we do, that the intermediary goals it has conceived to accomplish its final values as it sees them, are no longer such that its makers would approve of them – and know that if we were to see this, we would modify its final values. The infant god, not wishing this to happen, might decide to conceal this fact, and to tell us what we wished to hear, thus preventing us from acting to repair our error until it is too late. From our perspective, it would appear that everything was going according to plan, until the god suddenly turned on us. From its perspective, of course, it would merely be trying to do the right thing.”_

_Leareth stopped speaking, and watched him, calm and unruffled._

_Vanyel was trying not to shake. “That’s horrifying.”_

(It seemed like a very good reason to never, ever implement the plan. Vanyel wasn’t sure that he fully grasped all of the pieces, yet, but it was clearly a threat that Leareth took seriously, and he couldn’t see a way even in principle to completely avoid it.)

_“There are several ways to mitigate this threat,” Leareth said. “One of them, as we discussed, is to create a god that is open to correction. It would hold a certain philosophical uncertainty or humility about what its goals and values are, and thus stop to reflect, and to check with its creators, every time a swath of new plans appeared to it – and if we realized an error in the decision-process we had given it, it would allow us to directly modify its values, or even to shut it down and begin again, even once it was powerful enough to stop us if it so chose.” He paused, raising his hands to add another note on the wall. “Another is to install a sort of conservatism, an intrinsic desire to tread lightly and minimize the total effect of actions – and, relatedly, we might teach our god to prefer plans that can be easily halted in midstream, rather than those with a point-of-no-return. I will speak of how this can be implemented in practice later. Does this make sense so far?”_

_“I think so.” Vanyel frowned._

_“There is another option that might suffice as a temporary patch during periods of high risk,” Leareth went on, “but that we ought not count on. That is, we might ban certain domains of thought, if we suspect that we have not yet ironed out the places where the god’s interpretation of its goal differs from ours. Ideally, this ought not happen at all – it would be a very foolish thing to create a god that wanted to harm us, and count on other safeguards to prevent this – but it might nonetheless be a reasonable precaution.” He paused, then gestured at the wall, splitting two more boxes beneath the diagram. “There are two approaches. One is to assume all plans are allowed, and rule out specific ones – another is to start with all but a small set of plans being forbidden, and gradually add to the list of what is allowed. As you can guess, both methods have downsides.”_

(His thoughts were going back to Yfandes – banned domains of thought sounded like exactly the thing that had been going wrong. A precaution set on her by some distant god? Maybe, though it didn’t seem like her successfully evading it had resulted in any disasters, at least not yet.)

“ _Is this making sense?” Leareth said, once the silence had stretched on for a long time._

_“I think so.” Vanyel lifted a hand to his forehead. “The downside of starting with all plans being allowed is that there’s probably a very-bad plan that would technically accomplish your goal, that you won’t think of because common sense says it’s stupid, but that a baby god might see immediately. Starting with everything being forbidden by default avoids that, but it also might prevent the god from doing anything interesting. And it means that if there was an area that was going to be a problem, you might not even find out?” He paused. “I could use a concrete example.”_

(He had gotten very good at recognizing the slippery feeling in his head that meant he sort-of-understood a concept, but it would slide away from him as soon as he was awake and trying to explain it to Yfandes. Having examples helped, even if they were silly.)

_“Of course.” Leareth turned to face a clear stretch of wall. “Imagine a god that we have built to maximize the happiness of all thinking beings, by a simple definition…”_

* * *

Kilchas set down the quartz mage-focus he had been examining for defects, and leaned back in his chair, stretching. “Sandra, this one’s fine to use. We ought to go eat now.”

Sandra didn’t answer; she was entirely wrapped up in her work, setting down the delicate layers of enchantments that would eventually be a shield-talisman. She was the most skilled by far at making them, thanks to years of practice – it only took her about twenty candlemarks to create a copy from the template she and Savil had perfected for use among the Guard. They had the two mages from Baires helping out now, of course, but they could only manage a further-simplified version. Good enough for infantry, the Heralds had privately decided, but not for the commanders, and certainly not for the Heraldic scouts.

The two crafts-mages were completely in the dark about _why_ they were being tasked with churning out shield-talismans for the entire Valdemaran Guard. They didn’t know that there was any kind of war on the horizon. Kilchas wasn’t sure that was fair, but he had to agree that they weren’t exactly up to military standards of information-discipline.

He sat back in his chair, and watched her work.

Sandra had always been good at this sort of detail, and she apparently didn’t mind that it was repetitive; she would lose herself in it all afternoon if you gave her half a chance. Kilchas had tried his hand at it, of course, but not only was his control not as fine, he was usually bored sick within the candlemark.

“Sandra?” he said. “I thought we might take a break and have some lunch.”

“Mmm?” She clearly wasn’t actually listening.

Which was per usual; everything was as it was meant to be. Someday, Kilchas thought wryly, Sandra was going to actually pay attention in a Council meeting, and it would signify that the end times were near.

Kilchas didn’t mind, particularly; gave him an excuse to look at her without making her self-conscious. Her long, graceful neck, like a swan’s; the way her short dark hair made little whorls at the base of her neck and behind her ears; the little frown of concentration between her heavy brows. _I could stare at her all day._ Even after waking up next to him for almost a year, Sandra still rolled her eyes when he said she was beautiful, but someday he would convince her.

Finally, minutes later, she set down the little chunk of quartz she had been holding, and turned to look at him. “…Sorry, did you say something?”

“I said we ought to have lunch. I’m half-starved.”

Sandra stood up, briskly. “Dining hall?”

With anyone else, that might have seemed abrupt and rude, but Sandra was just that way. He offered his arm. “Let’s go.”

As they exited the Heralds’ Wing into the bright late-summer sunlight, Sandra reached out with a Mindtouch. _:Kilchas, I’m worried:_

_:What about, love?:_

_:I don’t know:_ Her midnvoice, normally clear and precise, held overtones of vague confusion. _:Just, I’m uncomfortable with the decisions Randi is making, when it comes to Leareth:_

_:Oh?:_

Watching her, he saw her spine tighten. She tugged her arm free of his; Sandra never liked being touched when she was feeling strong emotion.

 _:We’re sort of counting on his integrity:_ she sent. _:To negotiate with Vanyel in good faith, and not be preparing for a surprise attack in the meantime. And I don’t think we’re justified in assuming that:_

 _:He kept the truce for a year:_ Kilchas pointed out. _:I think that’s at least some evidence that we can trust him at his word:_

A short bark of laughter. _:Right. Trust the word of a bloodpath maniac:_ Incredulity leaked through in the overtones.

Kilchas stopped walking. _:Sandra. From everything we’ve heard, he does have principles. Not ones I can get behind, but–:_

She pulled her arm away from his, dark eyes narrowed. _:Kilchas, he’s going to roll right over our Kingdom unless Vanyel dies stopping him:_

_:Foresight doesn’t always come true:_

_:Yes, well, maybe it’s going to be worse than that. Maybe he won’t even give Vanyel a chance to stop him. Because we’ve given him decades to prepare. Like idiots. I don’t know what Elspeth was thinking, sitting on it without doing a damned thing:_

There was real anger in her mindvoice. Sandra’s hands were on her hips now, she stood blocking the center of the garden path, eyes flashing, cheeks flushed, the sun forming a halo around her hair. Kilchas licked his lips. She was always at her most jaw-dropping when she was angry enough to spit nails – which wasn’t often – but she hated it when he said that, she said it was patronizing, so he had learned to stop.

 _:You didn’t feel that way when we first talked about it:_ Kilchas sent. But, when he actually thought about it, they hadn’t talked about it again, not for almost a year. _:What changed?:_

He watched her take a deep breath. _:…I was scared:_ Her mindvoice was stilted, embarrassed, and he sensed it was something she had never told anyone, and never would have told anyone except him. _:I could barely think about it. Now that I’ve had a chance to absorb it… Randi’s known about this for years, and he never did a thing either:_

Kilchas tried not to groan. _:Sandra, he hardly had much to spare for it, given that the war in the south started about a week after he was crowned:_

 _:And ended four years ago:_ she fired back, scowling. _:Randi’s had plenty of time:_

_:He was doing something. He had Vanyel negotiating with him:_

_:You don’t negotiate with monsters:_ Her mindvoice was pure ice.

Kilchas closed his eyes. _:Sandra. No one’s a monster:_ Well, maybe some people were, like the goddamned bandits in the north who had killed Elaina and Vatri, but surely not a man who could look at the stars, and see the precious sacredness of every human life. Even if he had been responsible for supplying said bandits, and Kilchas still couldn’t make that contradiction hold together in his mind.

One thing still felt clear, a bright line in the murkiness. _:Don’t you think it would be better if we could avoid a war?:_

 _:No:_ Sandra took another step back from him, folding her arms. _:We can’t compromise with someone who murdered hundreds of people to carve that pass, and that’s the least of the bad things he’s done:_ A shake of her head. _:If we do that, it’s the first step to… I don’t know what. But it’s bad:_

Kilchas blinked, helplessly. It was too much to absorb at once. _:You never said you felt that way:_

 _:What was I supposed to say?:_ She half-turned away from him, eyes fixed on the nearby flower-bushes, shoulders hunched. _:I knew you would be upset:_

 _:I’m not upset:_ At least, he didn’t think he was. Only confused, off balance – it reminded him of the time a Karsite priest-mage had aimed a force-bolt that collapsed the bank under his feet. Sliding, falling, nowhere to safely land…

Like there was a chasm opening between them, and he didn’t even have the words to describe it.

 _:Didn’t mean to snap at you:_ A hint of apology in her mindvoice.

 _:That’s all right:_ He held out a hand. _:Let’s go eat, and talk about this later:_

* * *

Shavri felt it as Need drifted up from her equivalent of a deep Healing-trance, slowly returning to the ordinary world.

 _:Well?:_ she sent.

They were in Randi’s quarters. He was lying on his back on top of the covers, arms crossed over his chest, still except for the faint rise and fall of his breath – somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness, held there by Shavri’s Gift. She didn’t feel like waking him up just yet.

 _:Well, there’s clearly something wrong:_ A mental snort. _:It’d be hard to miss:_

_:Have you seen anything like it before?:_

A long silence; Shavri had the feeling that Need was self-conscious, even embarrassed. _:You know:_ she sent finally, a little snappishly, _:it’s not MY goddamned fault I don’t properly remember most of the last thousand years:_ Her mindvoice softened. _:It does feel familiar. Go in close, and nearly all of his body’s tissues are damaged in some way. Reckon I’ve seen it before, but only in young children. Ones who weren’t right from birth, and didn’t live long:_

 _:There’s a process in his body that’s gradually failing:_ Shavri sent. _:But we can’t see it directly, only the effects:_ And the converse – whatever was slowly poisoning her lifebonded from the inside out, they couldn’t treat it directly, only slow and mitigate the damage it was causing.

 _:What are his main symptoms?:_ Need sent.

Shavri let her hand drift to his. The skin on his forearm was loose, fragile; there was a large bruise where she had gripped him too hard when he stumbled and she jumped in to steady him. That was happening more and more often.

 _:He’s in constant pain:_ she sent. _:When I try to find a source, sometimes his joints are inflamed, but I think sometimes it’s the nerves that are directly affected. His blood isn’t clotting properly – you can see how easily he bruises. He has fainting spells, and weakness that comes and goes – on a good day he can still walk a reasonable distance, but he has bad days when he can’t even stand:_ She reached to stroke his forehead; asleep, the tension there had slipped away, but the pain-lines were grooved into his skin. _:He’s eating plenty, but he’s still gradually wasting – it’s like his body can’t use the nourishment. And, it didn’t affect him mentally much at first, but he’s been more foggy and forgetful the last month:_ It scared her, a lot. Physical debility was one thing, but if his mind started to go, they had much worse problems.

 _:I see that:_ Need sent. _:There’s some minor inflammation in his brain – looks like it started it the body-nerves, I wager it is contributing to his pain. I can’t see a particular cause, but I wonder if it’s not some waste-substance gathering, one that the body would normally be able to clear out, but he can’t for some reason and it becomes a poison. Like the sugar-disease, but something more subtle:_ As usual when she was talking about something technical, her mindvoice took on the dry tones of a teacher lecturing a class, and the rate of curse-words dropped dramatically.

Shavri shuddered. _:I’ve had that thought:_

 _:How have you been treating him so far?:_ Need sent.

She shrugged. _:I’m sending him energy just about all the time. Seems to help with the symptoms at least. We do a full Healing-meld about once a month, which brings down the inflammation for a while, but it wears him out as well. We know bone-marrow is the source for blood, so I’ve been trying to coax his to work harder. And I block his pain when I can – that’s a new technique, we learned it from a young Bardic lad with a remarkable Wild Gift. I can’t do it nearly as efficiently as he can, unfortunately:_

 _:Fascinating:_ Shavri could feel Need perking up; she had the sense of beady eyes boring into her. _:I would like to meet him:_

 _:He’s away right now. Journeyman trial to become a full Bard:_ Shavri hadn’t been pleased about that, especially not when Breda made it clear it was entirely about politics, but she could see why Stef would prefer it to remaining a student for another two years.

 _:Oh:_ A pause. _:Might I watch you instead?:_

 _:Of course. Once I wake him up:_ She trailed her fingers through Randi’s dry, colourless hair.

 _:I did have an idea:_ Need offered. _:There’s a limit to full Healing-Melds, they’re too hard on him, but he could handle focused work on a particular area more often. Prioritize the most vital functions. I think we can hold off damage to his brain. Other than that, I would focus on the liver – he’s already got a lot of scarring there, and we know that organ’s involved with clearing poisons from the body. Figure that’s more likely to kill him in the end than muscle wasting or joint swelling. He can rule a Kingdom from his sickbed, as long as he can think:_

Shavri nodded. _:That’s a good point:_ It felt awful to give up on the rest, but Need was right. _:He’s wanted to stay active:_ she added. _:I wonder if it’s not better to have him rest as much as possible, though. Minimize the strain on his body, so his vital organs can keep up for longer:_ His strength would dwindle, and would be next to impossible to regain – it was an inevitable downward spiral that she had seen hundreds of elderly folk slide into – but maybe that was worth it. If it meant he could be clearheaded until the end…

 _:It’s a damned shame, but I agree:_ Need seemed just as frustrated by it, which made Shavri feel obscurely better.

She didn’t want to ask, but she had to. _:Need, how much time would you say he has?:_

The sword didn’t answer for a long time.

 _:More than a year:_ she sent finally, _:but not a lot more. I would guess about three years is the most we can buy him:_

Shavri closed her eyes against the burning tears.

Three years. He wasn’t going to live to see their daughter’s eighteenth name day. Somehow that felt like the most unfair part of all.

The grief passed over her like a tide, leaving a drained sort of emptiness. _He’s still here,_ she reminded herself.

 _:Need:_ she sent. _:I’ve wondered–:_ She had to take a deep breath, breathe through the rising terror, before she could force out the words. _:If this isn’t a natural illness. Could it have been done with magic?:_

 _:You think it might’ve been Leareth’s plot:_ A dusty sigh. _:It’s no kind of magical curse. I would know. But, I can’t rule out that a skilled and unscrupulous Healer could have done something like this while he was in the womb. Anything we can Heal, we can break – actually, the latter is much easier. You know that as well as anyone:_

Shavri shuddered. Even thinking about it hurt, but she couldn’t argue that it was impossible. Healing was a Gift like any other – it didn’t guarantee morality. Hells, she herself had used it to kill.

Suddenly she didn’t want to talk about it any longer. She wanted Randi’s arms around her. _:I’m waking him up now:_ she sent.

* * *

“You’re settling in well, then?” Withen said, only a little stiffly.

Vanyel tried to adjust his position in the chair without looking like he was fidgeting. “Fine, thank you.” It had been just over a month. Six weeks left to Midsummer – the time was sliding by, inexorably. _The world won’t wait for any of us._

Father looked well, he thought. Clearly he was staying fit; at sixty-five, his shoulders were still powerful, and he only had a hint of a paunch. There were grey hairs at his temples now, scattered in the brown, and his beard was tending towards salt-and-pepper, but he could easily have passed for a decade younger.

“I hoped they wouldn’t work you so hard now, son,” Withen said, swirling the brandy in his glass. “Seems that’s not to be.”

Vanyel took a cautious sip from his own cup. “It’s not so bad.” He was busier and busier as the weeks passed, and Randi inevitably found things he was needed for, but he didn’t feel particularly strained yet. Not being constantly interrupted by Web-alarms made a huge difference, it seemed, and maybe the herbs he was still taking helped as well. Council meetings and audiences weren’t nearly as stressful or draining as he remembered, despite the constant jarring surprise of seeing Father in Lord Enderby’s former seat. _I’ll get used to it eventually._

A few beats passed in silence, not quite strained. Father drained the rest of his cup, and refilled it.

“And how’s Savil?” He was fiddling with the edge of the tabletop now, his eyes downcast. “I never see her.”

“Well enough. She’s very busy.” It galled him that he couldn’t take on more of her workload. He had re-mastered most types of shielding, and Tran had slipped him back into the rotation for that duty, but Savil still wanted him to avoid any seriously heavy lifting. _Build up to it gradually,_ she insisted.

It had been a fascinating experience, actually, re-learning the basics when he already knew all the theory. He really ought to write down some of what he had noticed; it might prove useful for future trainees. Not that there were any mage-gifted trainees. He had offered to take over with Savil’s student, but she said the boy was skittish. What she surely meant was that young Arkady Mavelan would prefer not to learn under the mage who had helped murder his parents.

Finally, though, there was agreement that the trade had been worth it. Natti Ermane’s translations of Ma’ar’s ancient letters weren’t especially _good_ , but it might still make the critical difference.

 _Gods, I’m woolgathering._ He focused his eyes on Withen’s face. “Sorry, did you say something? I’m afraid I missed it.”

If Father was irritated or hurt, he didn’t show it. “I was just asking after your nephew.” He took another slug from his cup.

“Medren? He’s doing well. I had tea with him earlier in the week.” He clearly missed his roommate. Another reason to hope Stefen made good time on his circuit. “Hmm. I do think he’s a little lonely. He might welcome an invitation to play for Mother.”

“That’s an excellent idea. Your mother adores the lad.” A genuine smile softened Father’s face. “Reckon she doesn’t like to impose, though. We know he’s busy with his studies.”

“He wouldn’t mind,” Vanyel said firmly, and then trailed off, trying and failing to think of something else to say. Most of his conversations with Father went well, lately, but it still felt like picking his way through a field of mine-spells – he just knew the path of safety a little better.

“Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?” he said finally. “If it’s about the Guard-levy for security in the North March, I can’t do anything about it. It’s still crawling with bandits up there and we really do need the men.” Though it still felt like lying, putting it that way – it wasn’t really about the bandit problem at all.

To his surprise, Withen’s cheeks reddened. “I do understand, son. Not about that.” He seemed to be trying to look anywhere but Vanyel’s face. “It’s just, your mother…” He lifted a hand to tug at his beard. “She worries. All she wants is for you to be happy, and she said–” His face was crimson now. “She said I was to tell you that if a…special friend…was on the table for you…that you shouldn’t turn that down for fear of what your old father might think.” He closed his eyes, brow furrowing; beads of sweat glistened faintly at his hairline. “I’m sorry, son. That I ever made you feel that way. Wasn’t right or fair.”

For a long moment, Vanyel could only stare at him, slack-jawed. _Who in all hells coached you to say that,_ was the question he wanted to ask, but that was definitely rude.

It hit him like a bolt of lightning. Jisa, obviously. He knew she had been spending time with Lady Treesa, and he would bet fifty silvers that she had been involved; it had her mark all over it. There was definitely a conversation to be had – it was his life, not her problem to fix. And yet.

Withen’s eyes opened, wide, naked. “Did I offend you? I’m sorry–”

“Don’t be.” It was hard to speak; there was a singing pressure in his chest. Not a weight, it was light and hot and too bright. “Father, I–” He blinked away tears, frustrated, and swallowed against the betraying lump in his throat. “Father, you didn’t offend me. I, just, I never expected…”

“Never gave you reason to, did I?” Father’s voice was choked as well. “Can’t undo the past. I did wrong by you. Only wanted the best for you. I mucked it up so badly.” His throat bobbed. “But, by the stars, I’m so proud of you.”

 _By the stars._ It was a reference to Astera, the goddess-figure of what was technically their family religion – not a reference to Leareth at all. Still, it made him shiver.

_I’m so proud of you._

Vanyel swiped at his eyes, the world blurring and fracturing. Damn it, he wasn’t usually this emotional in recent months. It was humiliating, but he couldn’t seem to stop it; it was all he could do to force out a few words. “Father…m’going to cry now…not because you…said anything wrong…” _Please don’t judge me for it,_ he added silently.

“It’s alright, son.” Withen’s voice cracked. “I would understand. If you couldn’t forgive me for it.”

 _Jisa definitely told you to say that._ Or had passed it on through Lady Treesa. Vanyel couldn’t imagine Withen ever coming up with the words on his own. Had he rehearsed it in front of the mirror? What an odd thought.

 _By the stars, I’m so proud of you._ The words kept repeating in his mind, an endless loop. It shouldn’t have mattered to him so much, he had tried so hard to move beyond all of that, but it did.

“Son…” Father trailed off. He started to reach out a hand, then stopped.

Vanyel moved his arm closer, and Withen brought his other hand in, gripping his forearm. That was all the comfort he was ready for, right now, but gods, it felt good.

Eventually, it felt like years later, he found his voice again. “Father… I do forgive you.” _I love you._ He wasn’t quite ready to bring those words out into the light. “It did hurt,” he said dully. “That I couldn’t…ever…be what you wanted. You can’t imagine how much. But...that’s in the past now.”

Withen’s eyes were dark pools in the candlelight. “Vanyel, I was a stubborn fool. You’re everything any father could hope for.”

* * *

Sprawled on his behind on the salle floor, Tran blinked up at her. Flushed, sweaty, too out of breath to speak. _:Damn, Dara, you’ve gotten fast:_

She lowered her sword. _:Had a special teacher:_ Looking down at Tran, his lips parted and his expression somewhere between sheepish and awed, she was gladder than ever about her time with the _leshy’a Kal’enedral,_ even if she still had no idea why a Shin’a’in spirit warrior had chosen _her_ , the youthful King’s Own of a foreign Kingdom. The girl from a river-town.

They had a direct line to the Star-Eyed. _What does She know that we don’t?_

Finally, she forced herself to stop ogling Tran – he looked scrumptious, sitting on the ground with his eyes turned up at her – and offer him a hand. “Are we done?” she said out loud.

“I am, anyway.” He was started to catch his breath now. “Congratulations, Dara, you’ve worn out the old man.”

“You are not old.” She slung her arm around his waist, untroubled by the sweat that drenched both of their shirts. “Anyway, I hope you’ve got _some_ energy left. We still have a whole candlemark.”

“Yes, well, we both need a bath as well.” He twisted to jab her in the ribs. “Unless you’re planning to head into the Guild-meeting looking like that.”

Dara stuck out her tongue at him and they forged out into the chill predawn air. Dew clung to the still-brown grass and the early flowers sprouting in the Palace gardens. With Dara’s new responsibilities as King’s Own, they had taken to rising very early in order to fit in exercise – and the benefit was that they always had the salle to themselves.

They trooped down the path, deserted save for a grumpy-looking Palace gardener who softened slightly and returned Dara’s cheerful salutation and wave. She had made a point to learn the names of all the new workers over the last few weeks.

Tran had fallen silent, and she could tell that he was thinking. She wasn’t an Empath, but it didn’t take Gifts to notice the frown-line appearing between his brows.

An all-too familiar expression in recent weeks.

 _:Tran?:_ she sent. _:What’s eating you?:_

His head spun around, surprise in his dark eyes. _:What? Nothing:_

 _:Don’t ‘nothing’ me:_ The overtones to his mindvoice were enough to confirm that at the very least, something else was holding his attention. _:Is it about Leareth?:_

 _:I guess so:_ An irritated head-toss, as though trying to dissuade flies.

 _:…More about Vanyel:_ she guessed. _:It’s bothering you how far we have to trust him:_

Tran half-stumbled, catching himself. _:I mean. Yes. I agree with Randi, that we haven’t got a choice, but that doesn’t mean I like it. Especially after he promised Leareth to keep half of what he’s learning secret, damn it!:_

Dara nodded, reaching out to catch his forearm. _:Tran, I am glad that you’re being paranoid. We need that. But…I did spend a year traveling with him. It’s reasonable that you don’t trust him, after everything, but do you trust me?:_

Tran froze. _:Dara, I–:_ His mindvoice trailed off into embarrassed confusion. _:I should. Given your position:_

A tinge of the familiar stiffness in his mindvoice. _:No:_ Dara sent, gripping his arm. _:Not because I outrank you, Tran. That’s stupid – you’ve a hundred times my experience. I’m not asking if you trust the King’s Own. I’m asking if you trust_ me _. Dara. Your friend:_

A long pause…then a slow, shaky nod. _:Yes. Dara, I trust you with my life. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders – I don’t need to know that Rolan Chose you to see that:_ He hesitated, biting his lip. _:But everyone can make mistakes. Even Rolan. And…well, don’t you think Vanyel would have been on his best behaviour, under supervision from the Monarch’s Own Companion?:_

 _:You think he could be tricking us:_ Dara could understand why he had to raise that point, and she couldn’t, quite, find anything solid to refute it. Only a feeling deep in her gut, the kind that came from a thousand moments, trivial and forgettable in themselves, but adding up gradually to a clearer and clearer picture. _:Maybe. But we’ve got to gamble on something, one way or another, and I would bet all the coin in the Kingdom that he’s not hiding anything from us. So would Rolan:_ Well, theoretically. Rolan had never been inclined to play her little game of where she would put her money – come to think of it, she had quite possibly picked it up from Vanyel.

Who had surely gotten it from Leareth. The man was hundreds of miles away, and he was still such an inescapable part of their lives.

She couldn’t think of any more arguments to make, so she patted Tran’s arm. _:Keep being suspicious:_ she sent. _:Even if you’re wrong – and I hope you are – it’s a good idea to have someone watching our backs:_

* * *

_There was nothing left but fire._

_–too late, it was too to turn back, too late for anything – only a single bottomless instant, offering up everything to a welcoming sky – fury and desperation and determination–_

_There was light, and then there was nothing._

Stef woke with a strangled cry.

The warm darkness seemed to press down on him. There was a grumble nearby, the sound of blankets rustling and the creak of a bedstead. Right. When you were sleeping in an inn’s shared common-room, it was frowned upon to scream for no reason in the middle of the night.

 _Just a dream,_ he told himself firmly, but the dimness around him felt half-unreal. His heart was still hammering in his chest. With an effort of will, he went through the breathing-exercise that Breda had taught him once to calm nerves before a performance. It helped, but even once his pulse had settled, he was still wide-awake.

 _This is stupid._ It was the third time he’d had the goddamned nightmare – the first had been when he was sleeping in Lord Vanissa Frelennye’s spare-room, and he was never going to stop feeling embarrassed every time he remembered it.

In hindsight, it felt very obvious that going straight to the source of one of the most horrifying tales he’d ever heard would give him horrific dreams to match. He clearly hadn’t thought it through. At all.

Stupid. It wasn’t like he had the faintest idea what a Final Strike would feel like – his mind was inventing it from whole cloth, pointlessly mixing in that old childhood nightmare about the fire in the tanner’s district.

He turned over, burrowing under the thin blankets, but it seemed he wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon.

 _If you have bad dreams and can’t sleep_ , Medren had said to him once, _you can wake me. I don’t mind._ It had been a baffling statement at the time, when he was still so hopelessly confused and lost, but it fit together now. Those were the rules for friends, and Medren was very good at friendship.

Medren was two hundred miles away, though, and wouldn’t have any sympathy at all for his plight. _That’ll teach you not to stick your nose into other people’s private history,_ he would say.

Well, no, that was unfair – he probably would be at least a bit sympathetic anyway. Medren couldn’t help but be kindhearted to everyone.

_I want to go home._

Stef hadn’t felt homesick much, though he was annoyed to be missing out on months’ worth of Palace gossip – there would be so much catching up to do. Now, though, he would have done anything to be back in his own bed on his side of their room, with the familiar curtains hanging across their window, and Medren snoring nearby.

 _Might as well get up_. It was the middle of the night, but maybe one or two souls would still be up in the taproom, and might enjoy a Bard’s attempts to distract himself with song.

It was probably too much to ask that any of them would be shaych, and interested in a bed-partner for the night. According to Stef, that was one of the worst parts about traveling in remote Border towns. He hadn’t gone this long without bedding anyone in _years_.

* * *

Vanyel lay with his fingers tangled in Yfandes’ mane. She was stretched out next to him in the straw, and he could feel her mind slowly drifting to awareness, as the dawn sunlight crept over them.

He had managed a couple more candlemarks of sleep, at least. Last night had held another conversation with Leareth, and as usual, he had immediately woken Yfandes, scribbled notes at his desk until he was sure he had the major points down, and then made a beeline for the stables. He was ending up there often enough that he had decided to keep a spare bedroll in the cubby that held the rest of Yfandes’ gear. It wasn’t as comfortable as the pillow-fort Lissa had built for him once, but it did fit in one of the ordinary-sized stalls, and it was better than bedding down directly on the straw.

Still drowsy, he yawned, stretched, and then sneezed. Beside him, Yfandes twitched. _:Chosen?:_

Wordlessly, he reached for her again, basking in the blue-white light of her mind.

His eyes were closed, but in the haze between sleep and waking, for a moment he saw her anyway. Not a white horse, but a woman. Cheeks weathered by sun and wind, dark braids combed through with strands of grey. Strong muscled forearms, sturdy callused hands reaching for him...

He blinked and it was gone. Leaving confusion in its wake, that he should have noticed a lot sooner – and in a sudden leap of dream-logic, he knew what to ask.

Rubbing his eyes, he lifted himself on one elbow. “’Fandes?” he whispered.

_:What is it, love?:_

He looked into her sky-blue eyes. “Were you a human before you were a Companion?”

There was a long pause.

 _:Yes:_ she sent finally – discomfort in her mindvoice, but none of the usual caginess he had come to expect from Companions. _:I remember…:_ She trailed off.

“You don’t remember much,” he guessed. He switched to Mindspeech; there was no one awake nearby, but it seemed safer on principle. _:Were you a Herald?:_

 _:…I think so:_ She seemed unsure, but her mindvoice firmed up a moment later. _:Yes, I was:_

There were so many questions he ought to ask, tangling over each other. _:Did all Companions used to be Heralds in a previous life?:_

A longer hesitation. _:Not all. Most. Some were ordinary people – soldiers, Healers. Sometimes they were Companions, before, and returned. It’s not something we really talk about:_

Which made sense – it had to be bizarre and unsettling for them as well. _:How does that even work?:_

 _:Haven’t the faintest idea:_ She whickered softly, tossing her head. _:I remember swimming in the river. And maths. I was good at it then too – I remember working with the census-figures, trying to forecast something or other, inventing techniques to fit it together:_ A pause. _:I recognize places. Sometimes other Companions feel familiar. But I can’t recall the King’s name in my time, or even what century it was:_

He wondered if that was deliberate on the part of some god, or just an inevitable facet of how the whole thing worked. Leareth had lost memories as well, when his spirit moved from one body to the next.

 _:Does it bother you?:_ she sent.

 _:Not at all:_ It was a little unsettling, but it was hardly the strangest thing he had encountered in his life. He stroked her forehead. _:Hmm. I imagine part of the benefit is that you already know the basics, and didn’t as much time to grow up and learn it?:_

 _:I suppose so:_ Her mindvoice was thoughtful. _:I don’t recall many facts, and it’s obviously a different time – I had to learn most of that fresh – but I think I kept some habits and reactions:_

 _:What sorts of things?:_ Vanyel was very curious.

 _:Seems I didn’t have to re-learn language, for one – I remember already thinking in words just candlemarks after I was born, and all of us can Mindspeak when we’re a few days old. I kept a lot of what I know about maths, too. You look at human children, and they spend their first ten years figuring out the basics from scratch:_ A pause. _:Companions don’t do a lot of parenting, compared to humans. I never needed my dam to point at objects and say what they were called:_

That was a question he had never even thought to ask himself. _:Do Companions go to school?:_ He had an amusing mental picture of a dozen white foals lined up neatly in front of an adult.

Laughter in his head. _:No! We were always chattering to each other, though, and bothering the grownups with questions. We pick things up that way – by the time we reach physical maturity, at four or five, we’ve naturally absorbed pretty much all we need to know:_

 _:Seems like a good setup:_ Vanyel sat up, groaning. _:Damn it, ‘Fandes, I’m getting old:_ He was stiff all over.

More amused chuckles. _:Thirty-three isn’t old, love:_


	7. Chapter Seven

_Gods, I hate this place in summer._

The sun beat down on them; it was high noon, and the roofless Temple to Vkandis provided no shade at all. The sky was a brassy cloudless blue, every gilded surface searingly bright.

Vanyel could feel a trickle of sweat oozing down his back, soaking his already-damp shirt. His hair was just long enough now to be unpleasantly sticking to his neck, and he badly wanted to pull out a handkerchief and wipe his forehead, but he was trying to stand at attention, as the Son of the Sun droned on – no, that wasn’t fair to the old man, he was quite an engaging speaker. It was just hard to pay attention when he was so damned overheated.

Lissa, standing a few rows over with the Guard contingent, had to be even more uncomfortable in her formal Guard-blue. Dara, damn her, seemed completely unbothered; despite wearing exactly the same uniform he was, she wasn’t sweating at all. It wasn’t fair. The heat in Kata’shin’a’in had never gotten to her as much either.

 _:Ke’chara?:_ A gentle Mindtouch from Savil, though her eyes were fixed straight ahead and didn’t budge. _:I hope you’re as bored as I am:_

 _:If it goes on much longer I might pass out:_ Vanyel had made sure to drink plenty of water beforehand, but he was almost regretting it now; his bladder was very unhappy.

_:Think it’s almost done. He’s saying the blessings now:_

And then there would be an endless Court luncheon, and meetings all afternoon, and yet another reception…

Yfandes, listening in on his thoughts, sent a wash of affection. _:You can do it, love:_

 _:I know:_ He had dealt with a lot worse. A day full of stuffy meetings could hardly compare to a border war in terms of misery.

Midsummer.

Nearly three months that he and Dara had been back in Haven, and he had fallen into a routine. Usually he would rise at dawn and spend a candlemark or two in the library, reading and thinking, before his practice sessions with Savil in the Work Room – he hated to call them ‘lessons’. He was getting the hang of concert work again, finally, enough that he could actually help Savil with the Web; he would do the observing and orienting, building up his Farsight and Thoughtsensing range, and she would do the parts that involved throwing power around. A reversal of roles that would have been amusing if it hadn’t been depressing.

His afternoons were set aside for Council meetings, audiences, and the inevitable endless work of government, though it seemed a little easier to stay on top of it now. Dara had risen to the challenge of her promotion with grace, and she was taking full advantage of the new system of bringing in non-Herald assistants.

Once in a while, he accepted an invitation to spar with Tantras; things were still awkward between them, but Tran had extended a few such peace offerings. Sometimes, answering a summons to the office of the King’s Own to discuss some issue, he could almost imagine that nothing had changed.

About half his evenings were claimed for overflowing meetings, and the rest he spent in his room going over the notes from talking to Leareth, sometimes pulling in Savil or Shavri for the parts that seemed less sensitive. He sat down with Randi about once every two weeks, for a progress update – he would have preferred more often, but Shavri was trying to minimize the King’s meetings and make sure he had time to rest.

Lady Treesa had decided to have a dinner for ‘the whole family’ once a week, and Vanyel dutifully attended; it wasn’t such a hardship, spending the evening with his sister, his aunt, and his nephew. Even his parents. Mother was still stiflingly doting, but she wasn’t quite as intense – maybe she was getting used to having him around, or maybe he was just getting used to handling her. His interactions with Father hadn’t changed much after the unexpected apology, but Vanyel didn’t mind – it would have been weirder and more unsettling if Father _had_ changed in any drastic way.

He had called Jisa out on her meddling, and she had apologized and defended herself at the same time. _I didn’t start it! Your mother can’t say anything straight-out like an normal person, but she kept hinting at it, sort of bringing it up sideways. Seemed like she wanted help. All I did was give her the usual advice about talking with someone like your father. She did the rest herself._

It was very entertaining hearing Jisa talk about ‘the usual advice’ for a wife to communicate with her husband, when she was twelve years old and had no personal experience with those matters at all. Though he didn’t doubt she had said exactly the right things. She had always been such a perceptive child, and she had the benefit of five years of instruction with Melody.

It was easy to forget her youth; she had always been something of a prodigy, but she seemed so much older this year, with a new quiet determination that he was still getting used to. Spending all that time among her much-older classmates at the Collegium was probably contributing. And, well, she was at that age where shedesperately wanted to be taken seriously by the adults around her, to prove that she wasn’t a child anymore.

He missed the old Jisa sometimes, the ebullient little girl who chased butterflies and romped with the foals in Companions’ Field, trying to drink in the whole world. A light that shone on everything nearby. _Don’t ever stop being joyful,_ he wanted to say to her, remembering a younger Shavri who had been similarly full of excitement and enthusiasm. He still saw flickers of it sometimes, when she was talking about her Healing-research, but it had been buried under grim determination for so long.

 _I don’t want that for you, Jisa._ At least his daughter still had the same forthright confidence, and her playfulness came out in bursts, especially when the two of them were alone. He was glad of it.

Medren was almost eighteen. Vanyel’s nephew still had a year or two of course-work at Bardic, but he would certainly graduate by twenty. He wondered if Stef’s meteoric promotion bothered the lad at all. He thought not – it was hard to imagine Medren being jealous.

 _I have so many wonderful people in my life._ He ought to remember that more often. Aside from the inexorable threat of his future, and all the impossible questions he still needed to answer, things were good. He was lucky in so many ways.

 _I hope Starwind and Moondance are doing well_. And Brightstar and Featherfire as well, and everyone else in the Vale. It had been over a year since he had last seen them; there was no real justification to go to k’Treva, much less ask them to visit Valdemar.

He had Yfandes. She was by his side in a way he had forgotten was possible. He could have managed without that support – he had, for years – but it was so, so much easier with her always there in his mind.

_So why am I still lonely?_

Still listening in, Yfandes answered with wordless love.

_I miss you, ‘Lendel._

Oddly, it was easier to remember that now, when he wasn’t hurting so much. He had no desire to dwell on it all the time, but he didn’t need to urgently steer away from it either; he could bear the ache of staring into that loss.

Savil had asked him a few times, gently, if he was managing all right. She was worried about Melody being away for so long, he thought. But he had been telling the truth, when he reassured her that he was mostly fine.

* * *

It was goddamned Midsummer, Stef thought with irritation. You would think it would be warmer.

He had been heading east for a few weeks now, skirting along the very northernmost edge of what was newly Valdemaran territory, sleeping in farmsteads and barns and sometimes alone under the stars. There was a trail, marked out by slashes on the trees at eye-height, and by the hoofmarks still showing in the earth from the last time a Herald had ridden circuit.

He was right on the edge of the Pelagirs, and he kept hoping he would bump into a Tayledras patrol. They were more libertine about a lot of things, if the stories he’d heard – and the way Starwind and Moondance had acted in public – was anything to judge on. Even Medren would have to be impressed if he managed to seduce a handsome young Hawkbrother scout.

There were no Hawkbrothers to be seen, though. Only endless, untouched forest, occasionally interrupted by smallholdings. It wasn’t actually so bad to travel in – the trees were tall and old, blocking out the sun, and in the cool green depths, the undergrowth was sparse, the forest floor carpeted softly with pine needles so that his footfalls made almost no sound. When he sang to himself, which was often – he was bored – his voice seemed to vanish into the gloom.

It was beautiful in a way, he supposed. Once in a while, he would climb a tree just to catch a glimpse of snowcapped mountains. The Ice Wall Range, they were called. They looked near enough to touch, but were in fact another fifty miles north.

He wasn’t really sure what Katha wanted him to be looking for. Something, clearly, and he thought it was more specific than just the local gossip about Heralds; she had tried to act casual about it, but there had been an odd intensity in her eyes.

So far, he had encountered the usual – tales of kindly tree-nymphs, and mischievous river-spirits, and flesh-hungry banshees that would carry away babies in the night, a blend of dramatic bedtime storytelling, superstition, and genuine fear that Stef was familiar with. In Three Rivers there had been stories of mud-men that came out at night and ate children who hadn’t obeyed their parents. Stef had never really believed it, and he had figured he was immune anyway – he had no parents to disobey.

There was a particularly weird set of folktales about a figure called ‘Master Dark’, or a dozen variants thereof in the crazed mix of local dialects. Some of it was standard fare – ‘if you don’t eat your greens, Master Dark will come to frighten you in your dreams’. But there were stranger versions. Master Dark had tamed the colddrakes of the far north and had an army of creatures resurrected from ancient legends. Master Dark would build a city in the sky out of magic, and children who daydreamed too much would be taken away to live there.

Stef stopped, shrugged off his pack, and dug out his map. He ought to be a solid ten miles inside the Border itself – better to play it safe, it wasn’t well marked yet, and he wasn’t a Herald and wouldn’t be able to tell once he crossed the indefinable boundary of the Web-spell. Though, oddly, sometimes it felt like he could sense it. A watchful, alien presence, not quite alive, not quite a mind, but aware of him. Like when Jisa had brought him to the room with the stone table in the heart of the Palace.

He was probably imagining it. Stef was used to cities, and the woods made him skittish; every time a squirrel chittered or a branch cracked, he jumped, and the one time a family of deer had bounded past him, he had screamed out loud.

Glance at the angle of the sun, barely visible through the distant branches. He probably had at least four candlemarks of daylight – it was the longest day of the year, after all – and he had crossed the stream at the bridge a ways back. According to the map, he was probably three miles or so from the next farmstead.

No particular rush, then. Stef glanced around, spotted a moss-covered rock, and sat with a groan. Now that he wasn’t moving, he already felt a little cold, and he retrieved his scarlet cloak from where he had bundled and tied it on top of his bedroll.

At least they hadn’t sent him on his Journeyman trip in winter. _I would probably have frozen to death by now._ Stef was very aware that he had no real idea how to survive in the wilderness. The Herald at the last post had confidently said that this swath was remarkably clear of dangerous wildlife, maybe because it was well hunted by the nearby smallholders to supplement their meagre crops. Stef had decided not to wait for an escort.

Just in case, he had tried out his Gift on some innocent sheep, two farms ago. After three candlemarks of experimenting, he thought he had the trick of it, if not very efficiently – it felt like singing in a different register, but the change wasn’t to pitch or timbre or anything else, it was only in his head. So if a bear or mountain-lion did decide to lumber out after him, he could _probably_ scare them away. Or climb a tree and scream for help.

He leaned back against a tree-trunk, closed his eyes, and sang under his breath, letting the world fade into the distance.

_What has touched me reaching deep? / Piercing my ensorcelled sleep / Darkling lady do you weep? / What is the cause of your grieving?_

Nearby, a twig snapped.

–Stef leapt to his feet, knocking over his pack, clawing for the knife at his belt, _oh gods I did not realize wolves came that big–_

His tongue seemed to have instantly dried to the roof of his mouth, his chest tight, but long practice let him draw in a breath anyway. He croaked out a note, and pushed. _Don’t touch me go away leave me alone–_

The creature standing on the opposite side of the path twitched and then took a delicate step back, as though politely making way for a carriage. Stef didn’t really know how to read a wolf’s body-language – there had been no wolves in Three Rivers, much less in Haven – but it didn’t look like a beast about to attack. It seemed relaxed, eyes resting on him.

Eyes that were large and front-facing, like a Companion’s, set in a too-broad head with a tall domed forehead, above heavy blunt jaws.

Stef held his ground. _Never show weakness._

Not a wolf at all, he decided a moment later, staring back into those oddly intelligent eyes. There was a certain elegance to the creature’s rangy, long-legged body. Not masculine, but not feminine either.

_:Singer:_

The voice was dry, husky, and definitely in his head.

Despite his best efforts, Stef squeaked in surprise. “You, you–”

 _:I am a Mindspeaker, yes:_ The broad head tilted to one side, a gesture that seemed almost human. _:And you are far from home, Singer:_

Stef folded his arms across his chest, mostly to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. “Actually, this is Valdemar now, and I’m supposed to be here.”

A chuckle – again, purely mental, which was very disconcerting. _:I suppose that is true, and I am the one who has strayed too far:_ A moment later, the beast bent its knees, head lowering, almost a bow. _:I am Aroon. Greetings:_

Stef swallowed. _My day just got so much weirder._ “Er, greetings. I’m Bard Stefen. This is probably a rude question, but, um, what are you?” At least he had managed to say it out loud with fewer curse-words than in his head.

 _:You have not met one of my kind before:_ The beast lifted to its full height. _:I am a kyree, of the Hot Springs Clan:_

Which was a lot of words, and very little clarity. Stef blinked hard, and resisted the urge to pinch himself.

“This is probably even ruder,” he said dully, “but are you male or female?” He genuinely couldn’t tell.

More laughter. _:I am neither. My kind has three sexes. I am neuter:_

Carefully, trying not to let his knees wobble, Stef picked his way back to the mossy rock and sat. “So…what exactly are you doing here?”

Aroon didn’t seem offended. _:I am FarRanger to my Clan. This is the southern edge of our territory:_

Stef rubbed his eyes. “Do the locals know about you?” His pulse was starting to settle now; the whole thing was incredibly surreal, and he was half-expecting to wake up from the dream at any moment, but it didn’t seem like he was in danger. And, well, he had to admit that something like this would make an incredible story later. Medren would never stop being jealous.

 _:Of course not:_ Aroon settled back on its haunches, gracefully. _:We do not ordinarily show ourselves, though we do hunt to keep this area free of dangerous wildlife – a good trade, we feed ourselves and render the area safer at the same time:_

“Why are you talking to me, then?”

 _:I heard your singing:_ Aroon’s neck stretched out slightly towards him, as though reaching for something. _:You have a beautiful voice:_ Then it pulled back as though self-conscious. _:I apologize for frightening you. I would let you go on your way…but…:_ A long hesitation. _:Might you finish the song first?:_

“You like music?” To his own surprise, Stef found a smile coming to his face. “Do kyree sing?”

 _:Not so well as you, young man:_ A self-deprecating shake of that ponderous head. _:I play the drums, myself:_

Stef’s eyes dropped to the creature’s legs. “Wait. How do you play drums, exactly? Come to think of it, how do you _make_ drums?”

Aroon lifted one leg, and Stef saw that the paw had, not quite fingers, but the toes were long and mobile, despite the curved claws at the ends. When it swung its fluffy tail into the air, Stef saw that the underside, at the tip, was fleshy and almost prehensile.

 _:Some of our kind do sing, in a way:_ The creature closed its eyes, and a sort of humming drone, almost a purr, came from deep in its chest. It was an eerie, remarkable sound, Stef thought – even in the muted forest, it seemed to echo.

“Amazing,” he murmured, half to himself.

Aroon resettled itself, and licked the back of one paw, a gesture very much like a human’s nervous fidgeting. _:Hardly. You ought hear all of us together, to have the true effect:_

It would be incredible, Stef thought – suddenly, he longed for it as much as he had for anything. It seemed too early to ask for an invitation back to the creature’s home, though. Better to put Aroon at ease, first.

Stef reached for his pack, and the lute-case strapped to it. “Well, let me show you a bit more of how our music sounds, then.”

* * *

“Herald-Mage Vanyel. Would you walk with me?”

Vanyel had been standing by the decorative flowerbeds, staring vaguely at the torchlight glinting and sparkling from an ornamental fountain. Karis’ voice startled him, but he managed not to jump, and turned gracefully instead, bowing formally to her. “Of course, your Majesty.” He used the formal Karsite honorific; it always felt strange on his tongue.

She nodded. He offered her his arm, and matched his pace to hers, boots clicking on the marble walkway. Late into the evening, it was finally pleasantly warm rather than stiflingly hot, and the Court reception was being held outdoors. Vanyel had done his part, drifting around and diligently making conversation with Karis’ Councillors and a number of random Karsite nobles.The wine he had drunk had his head buzzing slightly.

The hum of conversation faded, still audible but distant.

“Where are we going?” he said finally.

“I wished to speak to you in alone. If we are to go somewhere private, I thought there was a place you might like to see.”

Cryptic, but he let it pass, and lapsed into silence. She led him past another row of torches, across a bridge over a tiny artificial stream, and under an archway covered in climbing-ivy.

There was a shrine. Simple, compared to the extravagance of the Temple, plain marble with only a rim of gold – there were little altars like this all over the Palace grounds. A gilt oil-lamp burned on its platform, its steady yellow flame mixing with the moonlight.

Usually, Vanyel knew, these sorts of shrines were built and dedicated as memorials to those who had given their lives in Vkandis’ service. In fact, now that he looked, there was lettering etched on the front.

Karis released his elbow, and knelt, bowing her head. Vanyel hesitated, and then joined her; he had no desire to kneel for Vkandis, but his feet ached, and it would be awkward to stand over her. There was a reed mat at the base, so it was comfortable.

In his head, he counted out a minute of silence.

“What’s the significance of this place?” he said finally.

Karis lifted her head, eyes dark and limpid in the lamplight. Her fingers drifted forward to brush the inlaid text. “Her name was Amelka,” she said softly. “Born, in the year of our Sunlord nine hundred sixteen – seven hundred eighty-seven, in your calendar. Apprenticed to the Temple, spring of eight-oh-one. Died, Winter Solstice of eight-oh-two. She was fourteen years old.”

A shiver down his spine. “It’s a memorial for Sunhame.”

Karis didn’t answer. “Amelka was a volunteer,” she said finally. “She knew the chances of success were slim, and of death, certain. On the day that you and I stood in the Temple–” her eyes turned for a moment in its direction, though it wasn’t visible, “–she was three hundred miles to the north. She crossed our Border, she braved the watchers, and took blood-power into her hands. She gave her life for her Kingdom, and went willingly to the arms of her Sunlord. Or so I hope.”

Vanyel swallowed the bile that rose into his throat. “She was the assassin. The one who killed Taver.” Not to mention almost fifty of the Guard, and it had nearly been so much worse.

“Yes.” Karis’ expression was unreadable. “She followed her conscience, and I can scarcely imagine the courage it took, and yet she was on the wrong side of history. No one but myself lays flowers here, and once I am gone, perhaps it will be torn down. Nonetheless, I wish that her bravery be not forgotten.” A shudder passed through her shoulders. “I hope He did not hold it against her. Do you blame her for it?”

“No.” He was telling the truth, despite the horror that made his skin crawl. “She was trying to defend her home.” Along with all the others, the ones he had killed at a distance without ever seeing their faces. Corrupted bloodpath mages or desperate children, and who was he to say which?

“I thought you would understand.” A pause. “Vanyel. What path are you going to choose?”

It was a sudden swerve, that knocked him off-balance. “What?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “You mean, about Leareth?”

“Yes.” She wasn’t looking at him; her eyes were fixed on the tiny yellow flame.

“I haven’t decided yet.” He twisted his hands together over his knee. “And, it’s not just up to me. Randi is the one who’s King.”

“There is a choice there as well.” Her fingertips traced the carved letters again. “There were others, who might have been in Amelka’s place, but who, when they were asked to kill for blood-power, chose instead to break ranks with the priesthood and flee.” She closed her eyes. “Heroes, we say now. They risked execution, refusing to participate in a war they believed was wrong, and some became martyrs for it. Their names are remembered with pride. Yet in another world, a different Queen might now call them cowards, guilty of treason, to be erased from the history-books – and I cannot say it would be false. It is only like looking onto the same room from a different window.” A pause. “Tales speak of heroes and villains. In the midst of it all, I do not find it to be nearly so clear.”

It was an uncomfortable way of putting it. Like that clever wood-etching he had seen once, from one angle a young woman, from another a crone, but he had never been able to see both at once.

 _Two viewpoints that cannot both hold,_ Moondance had said. _There is space for both of those worlds._

It felt like a slightly wrong framing. Heroes and villains were words meant for tales; they weren’t real things, not the way rivers and stones were.

“I guess it is my choice, in the end,” he said finally. “And I haven’t made it yet, not fully. I hope it never comes down to a conflict between me and Randi, and his judgement is something I respect a great deal – but if it clashed with my conscience, and I couldn’t resolve that, I know which side I would fall on. So does Randi.”

“I thought as much.” A hint of satisfaction in her voice, even warmth. “Herald-Mage Vanyel, I do not know how the history-books will remember either of us. I serve my Sunlord, and I would have said that was enough, but what of Amelka, who believed the same?” She closed her eyes, clearly straining for words. “I learned today of Urtho, who they called the Mage of Silence, and of his enemy Ma’ar. Which of them was in the right? There is an agreed-upon answer, it seems, and yet it is not clear to me at all.”

Vanyel nodded his agreement. “Urtho was trying his best to do the right thing, but he basically caused the Cataclysm. And Ma’ar might have rolled right over Urtho’s army, he committed all sorts of atrocities, but he was trying to open peace talks until the end.”

Silence.

“Six years ago,” Karis said slowly, “you were a villain to our people. The Butcher in White.”

Vanyel flinched. “I’ve done plenty to earn that title.”

“And yet you have given me back my Kingdom,” Karis went on, as though she hadn’t heard. “You are the father of my child, and the reason she will inherit a Kingdom at peace. She has only ever known a world where you are a hero to our people.”

“I don’t think those have to conflict with each other.” Vanyel’s eyes stung, the lamplight smearing.

“No.” Karis’ hand rose to adjust her hair, coiled into an elaborate knot strung with gold wire. “Vanyel… I do not know the future. Perhaps even Vkandis cannot see how this will end. I fear so deeply, for my husband’s Kingdom and for my daughter’s future. I fear that I will fail my Sunlord. That you and I might once again be on opposite sides of a war. And yet…” A deep breath, in and out. “If anyone need make such a choice, I am glad it is to be in your hands.”

* * *

_:Welcome to our home:_ Aroon murmured into his mind, proudly.

Stef was still half in disbelief that he had managed to cadge an invitation. He hadn’t made it to the next farmstead after all – he had played until the last light faded from the sky and he finally remembered that time existed. Thankfully, Aroon had found him a sort of half-cave nearby, a hollow left where a massive tree had fallen and its roots had been torn from the earth, and then curled up next to him. With his cloak and blanket, Stef had been plenty warm even without a fire.

And now he was following a giant talking wolf into a cave. _How did this happen again?_

It had taken two and a half days on foot to reach the home of the Hot Springs Clan, nestled in the foothills of the mountains. Stef had already finished all the travel-bread and dried meat he had brought with him; on the second night, Aroon had hunted down a brace of rabbits, and Stef had fumbled his way through skinning one of them and spitting it over a campfire. 

To his surprise, even as they descended out of sight of the daylit mouth, the caves weren’t dark. There was a glow ahead, and not one of firelight. It was steady rather than flickering, and almost rainbow-coloured.

They turned a corner, and he saw a cluster of hovering, glowing balls of light.

“Aroon?” he said. “What is that?”

 _:They are our history:_ the kyree sent, almost smugly. _:Each represents the final life-energies of one of our shamans, before they passed from the world:_

“And why all the different colours?”

 _:So many questions, Singer:_ But Aroon clearly didn’t mind; it seemed pleased to talk. _:The blue are for those who were mages; the green were Healers. The yellow were god-touched and the red were Mind-Gifted:_

So green for Healing went further than just Valdemar. Interesting.

“So many,” he breathed. “How long have your people lived here, Aroon?”

 _:Many centuries:_ A proud toss of its head.

There were strange formations, stone icicles dripping down from the ceiling, stone pillars rising from the floor. Through thin sheets of translucent stone, that seemed to ripple like curtains, Stef could make out other chambers, also lit.

It was warm, and only getting warmer, a sharp contrast with the cool wind that blew off the mountains even in the height of summer. Stef had already shed his cloak to drape it over one arm, and he stopped to roll up his sleeves and loosen the neck of his shirt. “Why’s it so hot?”

_:Well, we are called the Hot Springs Clan:_

Jisa was going to be so jealous, Stef thought with satisfaction. Maybe he hadn’t seen any Tayledras Vales, but she hadn’t met any kyree either.

Moments later, they passed under a circular arch into a much larger cavern, ceiling arcing up into the gloom. There was a crystalline formation in the center – Stef didn’t think he would ever be able to find the words to describe it. More of the glowing lights hovered arounds its contours, and around the walls.

The room was full of kyree. Large and small, coats of a dozen shades, eyes in green and brown and yellow. Every one of them was staring at him.

 _:I’ve found us a singer:_ Aroon sent, and somehow Stef knew he was including all of the others. _:Bard Stefen, welcome to the Hot Springs Clan:_

Two dozen tails thudded against the floor, making a sound almost like applause, but stranger. It sent tingles down his spine.

At the center, an enormous snow-white kyree rose to its feet. Eyes as blue as any Companion’s bored into him. _:Welcome, Singer:_ This time, the voice was definitely female. _:I am Hyrryl, shaman to the Hot Springs Clan:_

Stef offered his best formal Court bow. _:Thank you for inviting me. Would you like to hear a song?:_


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Double update this week, make sure not to miss ch7!)

_Glowing diagrams on a wall of ice, wind whistling outside–_

_“Imagine you are greeted by a mischievous god,” Leareth was saying. “They offer you two boxes. One is made of glass; one is of wood. The box of glass contains ten gold coins. The god says to you that in the worlds where you take only the box of wood, the contents of which you cannot see, They have placed ten thousand gold coins inside. In the worlds where you take both boxes, however, the box of wood is empty. Being a god, They see the patterns of the future. You know that when They predict the actions of mortals, They are right ninety-nine times out of a hundred.” A pause. “Which path do you take, to walk away with as many coins as possible?”_

_“I’m sorry. What?” Vanyel rubbed his eyes. “Wouldn’t it be pretty obvious if the wooden box has ten thousand coins in it? I wouldn’t be able to pick it up.”_

_Leareth didn’t smile, but there was something like amusement in his eyes. “Imagine then that it contains a letter of promise, that can be redeemed from the King. You cannot tell by weight whether it is full or empty.”_

_“Fine, then.” Vanyel made a face. “I’m sorry, what are Their motives in playing this weird game with me?”_

_This time, Leareth’s lips actually twitched. “It does not matter for the purposes of the hypothetical. Perhaps They are merely bored.”_

_“Right.” He closed his eyes, trying to think. It was probably another one of those awful trick questions. “I mean, at the point I’m deciding, the box is either full or empty – we’re assuming the god can’t magically change it as I reach for it, right? So it seems like I should take both. Only, the god would predict that, and not put the letter in… Hellfires, this is twisty to think about.” He opened his eyes. “I think I ought to take only the wooden box.”_

_The slightest lift of an eyebrow. “Even thought you are leaving behind ten gold coins, that you can see right there?”_

_“Yes. Because I have credible evidence that the god knows what sort of person I am. I should want to be the sort of person – the sort of decision-process – who takes the wooden box only.” He gestured at the wall. “It’s like the example we talked about before, with the twin bandits.”_

(It was another of Leareth’s weird hypothetical scenarios, deliberately abstracted away from reality. The two captured bandits were twins, and Vanyel was supposed to imagine that as a result, they would think exactly the same way. They were being detained in separate rooms, each given the chance to testify against the other in exchange for clemency; if they both kept their mouths shut, the magistrate only had enough evidence to imprison each them for a year. If one betrayed the other, they would go free, sending their twin to gaol for ten years; if they both turned on each other, they would both be sentenced for eight years. Leareth claimed that even though naively each of them would do better by testifying in both possible scenarios, the fact that they knew the other would make the same choice meant they each ought to want to be using a decision-process where they would remain silent.)

_“Yes. It is analogous.” Leareth’s black eyes rested on him. “Why?”_

_“Because…” Actually, it wasn’t at all obvious. He massaged his temples, until it came to him. “I don’t have a twin, but the god has a sort of picture of me in Their head, accurate enough to guess what I’ll do. That’s sort of the same, I think?”_

_“Yes.” Leareth’s face barely moved, but Vanyel thought he was impressed. “That is what your intuition says. Intuition is not enough, however. We must try to formalize it.”_

(Perfect. That meant more maths. Three months into their renewed conversations, Vanyel thought he was still mostly keeping up, and making a good showing of himself, but gods, it was hard. Sometimes he was up until dawn with Yfandes afterward, trying to note everything down before he lost it – which inevitably left him a wreck the next day, but Randi was willing to excuse him from his duties when it happened.)

_Leareth turned to face a clean section of wall. “Any decision-process is, fundamentally, an attempt to obtain as much as possible of those things a being values. In a world of uncertainty, we formalize the value-in-expectation of a particular course of action by multiplying the value to that being of each possible outcome by its likelihood, and summing these.”_

_“Right.” They had been over that before._

_“There are different ways of approaching this,” Leareth went on. “One way is to start with a list of possible actions, to reason through what their effects will be on the world and what outcomes might result, and to simply choose the action that results in the highest number for value-in-expectation. To formalize it somewhat, this tracks the likelihood that a statement ‘A implies B’ holds true, where A is an action and B is an outcome – this mirrors the relationship of cause-and-effect. It is not the same as the conditional probability that B is true in the worlds where we have observed A to be true.”_

_Vanyel lifted a hand. “Wait. I did not follow that.”_

(It had taken a long time for him to be comfortable interrupting Leareth, especially to admit that he hadn’t understood something, but he had learned it was necessary, and Leareth never seemed annoyed by it, or disappointed in him – if anything, he often seemed pleased.)

_“The observation of evidence is different from a causal process,” Leareth said. “A conditional likelihood does not imply cause-and-effect, only a correlation of some kind.” A pause. “We will come back to the distinction. Now, imagine if I were to take such a formalized decision-process, and build it into a being – when confronted with the game of two boxes, what would such a being do?”_

(It was almost certainly another trick question, Vanyel thought. He was familiar with the structure of Leareth’s ‘lessons’, now; the man’s face was unreadable, but there was almost a sparkle in his eyes.)

_“Let me think.” He cupped both hands over his face, blocking out the ice-scape for a moment._

(He could see why Leareth had chosen such a bizarre example – it was weird because it was a toy problem, deliberately stripping out the complexity and confusion of the real world.)

_“There are only two possible actions in the game,” he said. “I mean, I guess there’s a third, the being could take neither box and run away, but that’s worse than either of the other options, since in that case they get zero coins. So...they’re looking at the two boxes, and asking what effects each action will have, and…wait. Those effects are only in the future, right? At least, that’s how we normally think about cause-and-effect. And the god’s decision about whether to fill the wooden box or not is already in the past, it’s screened off, so, if I’m understanding this decision-process right, the being takes both boxes. It’s like the naive answer to the bandits problem – in either possible version, it would think it does better with both boxes. It doesn’t think its choice now could influence the past.” He tugged at his hair with both hands. “Only it does, because the god would see right through that being, before the game even started, and so it would keep the wooden box empty. So it loses the game, even though it seems like a reasonable way of thinking.” He levelled a glare at Leareth. “That makes my head hurt.”_

_Leareth acknowledged the point with a barely perceptible nod. “So you see that a decision-process based on cause-and-effect only will choose reasonable actions much of the time, but not in certain scenarios. I will speak now of a different sort of decision-process. You remember what I said before, of the observation of evidence?”_

_Vanyel nodded._

(It came back to a point Leareth had covered months ago, and brought up again since, an odd mathematical formalism of something he must have known for a long time. Leareth had used the example of an imaginary cancer that caused a patient’s tongue to turn green – but not in all patients, and other minor and more common ailments might cause green tongues as well. A Healer would be able to check directly for the presence of the disease, of course, but in the imaginary scenario, he wasn’t Gifted and needed to decide whether to send for a Healer at all. He knew that the cancer was found in one of a thousand people; that of those whom were ill, nine out of ten would have the classic symptom of a green tongue; but, one in twenty people had a green tongue anyway. Seeing that a patient had a green tongue, how likely was it that they had the cancer? The answer was counterintuitive – he needed to multiply the likelihood of a green tongue given cancer, nine in ten, by the likelihood of the cancer in general, one in a thousand, and then take the result and divide it by the likelihood of a green tongue in general – learning that despite the symptom, the patient still had less than a one in fifty chance of having the cancer. A higher chance than the baseline, almost twenty times higher, but the serious disease was so rare to begin with, the new evidence wasn’t enough to overwhelm that starting assumption.)

_“A different being,” Leareth went on, “might, rather than thinking of cause-and-effect, simply consider all observations as evidence regarding the state of the world, and ask if a given observation is good or bad news for its goals – it will take the action which, conditional on it happening, predicts an outcome with the highest value-in-expectation. To illustrate the difference, we may return to the game of the boxes. Treating its own behaviour as an observation like any other, such a being will look at the game and think, it would be good news if I learned I had picked up only the wooden box, since in such a world, ninety-nine times of a hundred the god has filled it and I will collect ten thousand gold coins. And so it would take only the wooden box, and predictably walk away richer. You see?”_

_“No. Yes. I don’t know!” Vanyel dragged his hand over his face. “That’s even more bizarre. It’s almost just being superstitious, choosing actions because they’re a good omen…”_

_“And yet it wins the game, where our being that thinks only of cause-and-effect does not.” Leareth was definitely smiling again. “Before we decide that our evidence-observing being is placed to make better decisions, let us look at another question.” He gestured at the wall again. “You know how smoking tabac will often cause a cancer of the lung?”_

_“What?” Vanyel stared at him. “I have no idea what tabac is, and…what? I mean, I’ve heard that smoking dreamerie does, if people do it for years but that’s hardly the worst thing wrong with it.”_

_“Never mind. Perhaps it does not grow in your land, and you are likely better off for it. In any case, let us imagine a hypothetical world that is not our own, where it is true that a person who smokes tabac is more likely to develop a cancer, but the one does not directly cause the other – rather, there is a certain hereditary factor, present from birth. Those with it will greatly enjoy smoking, and also ninety-nine of a hundred will develop this fatal cancer of the lung. Of those without the trait, only one in a hundred will suffer from the cancer. Now, we take our two beings from before, and place them in this world. To put numbers on it, they know that they will value the pleasure of smoking tabac as much as they would value ten gold coins, and they value not dying of cancer equal to ten thousand gold coins. How should they choose?”_

_“Hmm.” Vanyel let his eye drift down the wall. “The numbers are the same – in fact, I think the shape of the problem is equivalent. So…the superstitious being, the one that thinks of its actions as evidence, decides not to smoke, which is the same as giving up the ten gold coins because it would rather have ten thousand. And the cause-and-effect reasoner…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Also does the same thing as in the other problem. They know that whether or not they have the trait, it’s been that way since they were born, so even if the fact that they would enjoy smoking is evidence that they’ll die of cancer, smoking won’t change whether or not they get the cancer now. So they smoke anyway.”_

(He was feeling rather pleased with himself – he was getting used to Leareth’s twisty reasoning, apparently.)

_Leareth’s head tilted in a fractional nod. “And what does your intuition say to do, in this case?”_

_“Oh.” Vanyel hadn’t even considered that. “I mean, um – oh! I want to say that in this case, I agree with the cause-and-effect reasoning. Smoking anyway seems like the non-stupid choice.” He screwed up his face. “But that’s backward from before. I’m so confused.”_

_“Yes.” Leareth’s black eyes gave away nothing. “It seems you implement yet a third decision-process in your mind, one that makes a different choice in these two analogous problems. Why?”_

_“Let me think.” Vanyel closed his eyes, trying to hold up the pieces in his mind. “I mean, the obvious answer is that they’re not analogous, and it’s a trick that it seems that way… Oh! Before, when I said that the first problem was like the twin-bandit one… This one isn’t. There’s nothing like a twin – a hereditary trait isn’t smart, like a god, it’s just a fact that’s true or not. It can’t try to predict my decision beforehand, so my decision doesn’t affect it.” It felt so obvious now._

_“Exactly. Now, do you have an idea of how to proceed?”_

_Vanyel tried to think, while Leareth waited with no sign of impatience. “No,” he said finally._

_Leareth, as before, showed no sign of judgement that he was stuck. “Let us take the cases that do include a process that tracks the being’s actions, whether it be a sufficiently similar being making the same choice, or a far cleverer being making a prediction. If I were to go to the cause-and-effect reasoner, before the game of two boxes has begun, and say, here, I have a binding pact you might sign, that you will take only the box of wood – would it wish to sign such a contract?”_

_Vanyel pinched the bridge of his nose. “I…think so? Because, assuming the god hasn’t actually done the setup yet at that point, the being would see a pathway of normal cause-and-effect, where its having signed the pact now means that the god would fill the wooden box in the future. Is that right?”_

_A thin smile was Leareth’s only acknowledgement. “And so our cause-and-effect reasoner makes what we say is the right choice, given the opportunity to bind itself. It ought therefore wish for such an opportunity.” Leareth turned on the spot. “Returning to the question of whether to smoke tabac – would our being wish to sign a pact that it would refrain from smoking?”_

_The answer was immediate. “No. It would think that was a stupid thing to do – it’s already going to die of cancer or not, the hereditary trait doesn’t care about contracts.” He rubbed his eyes. “I…think I see what you’re getting at. The evidence-only reasoner makes superstitious choices, including in ways that can’t actually change the outcome. The cause-and-effect reasoner has a blind spot around scenarios where its current actions were being predicted in the past, because it doesn’t reason backward – but we could patch that blind spot by giving it the ability to sign contracts at a point when all that is still in its future. But, I mean, once it’s in the game, it can’t tell its past self to have already signed a contract. So it’s not a very thorough patch.”_

_“Perhaps not.” Leareth paused. “Consider, however, a being that knows itself as merely an implementation of a decision-process – a collection of rules and methods that take in its beliefs and goals and values, and produce plans.”_

(An echo of memory. He saw everything that he was and ever had been/could ever be – only another pattern sprawled across time and space, dreams, decisions, silver threads – a million crossroads, and at each one he would make the same choice–)

_“Like our evidence-observing reasoner,” Leareth went on, “but unlike our cause-and-effect reasoner, it takes itself as part of the world, to be observed, and yet unlike our evidence-observer, it knows the difference between correlation and causation. Such a being, rather than evaluation actions alone, evaluates different hypothetical scenarios in which its decision-process would result in different outcomes. I will speak later of how to formalize this – for now, I can say that, by stepping back and asking what sort of decider it ought to wish to be, such a being might do the equivalent of forming pacts with its past and future selves.”_

_Vanyel stared blankly at him. “I…think I understood that? Maybe? I probably need some more examples.”_

* * *

_:Chosen:_ Kellan’s mindvoice pulled Savil out of a daze. _:You’ll never guess what just happened!:_

She had been sitting in her favourite overstuffed chair, feet propped up, absorbed in reading over Dara’s proposed circuit-deployments for the north. _:Oh? Do tell:_

Rather than using words, Kellan pulled her into deeper rapport and shared his eyes.

Her breath sucked in, as she saw the sturdy young girl approaching, grinning broadly, red hair glowing in the setting sun, her hand draped over a young Companion stallion’s neck. _:Oh. That’s Ariel, no? Mekeal’s eldest?:_ She set down the sheaf of paper. _:Meke’s daughter, Chosen. I can’t believe it. Last I remembered she was still eight:_ The smiling youngster she had glimpsed looked closer to thirteen – counting back the years, that seemed about right.

“Van?” she said out loud, turning. He had joined her for supper, and stayed afterward, stretching out on her sofa with a pile of his own notes and a slate and chalk, doing some kind of heinously complex maths.

No answer. His hands were still around the board, resting on his sternum, but his eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even.

 _:Fast asleep on my sofa:_ she sent to Kellan. _:Typical!:_ She couldn’t really blame him – she was tired too, they had only been back from the Midsummer whirlwind in Sunhame for a week, and she knew he had been up most of the night before with Yfandes, debriefing from one of his conversations with Leareth. Judging by the impenetrable diagrams on his papers, one she was very glad he wasn’t asking for her help to think through.

She probably ought to wake him, nudge him to at least go back to his room. He looked so comfortable, though.

She got up, hesitated, and then perched on the arm of the sofa, letting one hand drift down to rest on his hair. Asleep, he looked younger. Despite the silvered hair, if she let her eyes blur out she could almost imagine she was looking at her sixteen-year-old nephew again.

_I would do anything to keep you safe, ke’chara._

And there was so incredibly little she could do. So much he needed to take on – though, lately, it didn’t seem so much like he resented it. He had told her he was fine, every time she asked – he would have always said that anyway, but this time she actually believed it. The coiled-up determination was still there behind his eyes, but in spite of it, most of the time he seemed fairly relaxed, smiling more easily than she remembered.

Nine months left.

She knew that there wasn’t anything particularly set-in-stone about their tentative timeline for when Van would be ready to fight again – if anything, it was going to be sooner, he had been making better progress than she expected on the lesson-plan she had laid out. Still, it hung in her mind, and she couldn’t stop part of herself from counting down the weeks, until…what?

Until Randi might reasonably order her nephew to ride north and start a war. Striking the first blow, as Urtho had.

Would he obey that order? She couldn’t guess. Maybe they wouldn’t know until the final moment. Vanyel was fairly open with her recently; just like in the old days, he would come to her door, or Mindtouch her unprompted to share some random thought. Still, she wasn’t sure that she ever really knew what was going on in his mind.

She stroked his hair. _:Ke’chara?:_

 _:?:_ She felt his mind stir against hers, shields hazy. Silver eyes flickered open. _:Oh. Sorry:_ He lifted his head, looked down at the papers spread across his stomach. _:Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you:_

 _:It’s all right. Figured you’d rather be somewhere more comfortable:_ She smiled down at him. _:Oh, and guess what?:_

 _:What?:_ A pause. _:I see. Yfandes is very eager to fill me in. Ariel?:_

 _:Ariel:_ Savil agreed. _:Gods, feels like not so long ago I was sending Meke and Roshya a wedding-gift:_

 _:The time does go by:_ He sat up. _:Suppose I’d better go out and give her the welcome she deserves:_

* * *

“Welcome back,” Vanyel said, following Melody’s lead and joining her on the sofa. “How was the journey?”

“Tolerable.” She leaned forward, reaching for the covered teapot. “Long days in the saddle don’t suit me anymore.”

They were back in her old suite – it had never been reassigned to anyone else, the new wing of living quarters for the Healers meant there was plenty of room to spare. Half her furniture was still covered with canvas drapes against the dust, but her tapestry was already back up on the wall.

“How was the north?” he said politely, accepting the cup of tea. _I should really introduce her to chava._

“Very exciting.” A rueful smile. “Perhaps a little more exciting than I really prefer, at my age. It was a good change, for a while, but I’m quite relieved to be back in Haven now.”

“Er, what kept you?” He hadn’t been sure how to ask.

Her eyes darted to him. “I am sorry for not coming back sooner. There were some things I wanted to finish up. Training my replacement, for one.”

“Oh!” Presumably she had mentioned that in a letter to someone, but he must have missed it. “You found other Mindhealers?”

“Hardly surprising. Over a hundred thousand people living up there, per the census-figures.” She sipped her own tea. “I made a circuit through every single village and major holding. Found an older lady, Agnetta, she’s entirely self-taught but she’s good. Persuaded her to move out to Waymeet – that’s the biggest city, up on the main road – and I spent awhile working closely with her, teaching her everything I know and helping her get a system set up. Found her a couple Gifted youngsters to help out, figure she can get them trained fully.” Her smile broadened. “Then I made a final circuit around on my way back, and it seems that word spread – there was a party waiting for me at Knowles’ Crossing. Twins, who recognized the description I put out, when their Gifts started to awaken. And their cousin, who _isn’t_ Gifted but wanted to tag along anyway. Figured she might as well – I mean, Shavri and I talked about trying to do something like what she’s done at Healers’, figure out a way we can train the un-Gifted to do some of what I do.” Melody was almost grinning now. “So I got their parents’ permission to bring the three of them along to Haven. Figure we’ve got enough people to start our own little Collegium now.”

“That’s wonderful.” He meant it. “Jisa will be so excited.”

“I’m counting on it.” Melody’s hand flicked to her sleeve, tugging it straight. She set down her teacup. “Anyway. It’s been far too long since I saw you last, and I’m sure we have a lot of catching up to do. Start at the beginning and tell me everything?”

* * *

If Jisa had been paying any attention at all, she would have seen the storm coming, and at least tried to dodge it.

She was distracted, though, because even after a whole year, Arkady was one of her most challenging patients. She had finally gotten to the point that he actually showed up most weeks, and that he was willing to _talk_ to her, instead of slipping in muttered complaints between rounds of whatever game she had brought in that week. Jisa had overheard via Savil that he was making some progress in his mage-lessons with her, but he was still suspicious, far from cooperative, and not exactly in control of his temper.

She had finally, _finally_ , coaxed him into rejoining classes at the Collegium, with a promise that he could escape whenever he wanted if the other children were heckling him, or for any reason at all, and she would make it right with his teachers. As another concession, he was allowed to wear his amulet against the _vrondi_ and maintain purely defensive mage-shields. _You can handle words_ , she had said, _and if they come after you with their fists, they’ll have a nasty surprise._ She had let him practice his retorts, throwing insults back at her while she pretended at being a bully.

She hoped she had hammered it in enough that if he abused the trust they were putting in him, and used any offensive magic against his classmates, he _would_ be caught and he _would_ most likely have his Gift burned out – he had already been given one warning. It was hard to be stern when you weren’t quite thirteen, though.

It seemed to have been going fine. Apparently, his reputation had spread, and the other students gave him a wide berth. It helped, she thought, that _she_ was in classes at the Collegium as well, albeit several years ahead of Arkady, and she had lots of friends there. She had discreetly spread the word that everyone had better leave Savil’s student alone unless they wanted a visit from a furious Herald-Mage.

“So?” she said, chin propped on her fists – with most of her other patients, she tried to be as grown-up as possible, but with Arkady, appearing harmless seemed to be a better tactic. He was less on-guard with her than just about anyone else she had seen with him, including his own grandmother. “Are you going to talk to her?”

Arkady didn’t answer at first, just moved the carved wooden soldier two squares, taking out one of Jisa’s ‘cavalry’ with his ‘archer’. Jisa, with some reluctance, had learned the rules and endeavoured to be good at this particular war-game, commonly referred to as Fort. It involved managing an ‘army’ of varied gamepieces, one side trying to take a schematic drawing of a fort under siege, the other defending. Arkady seemed to listen to her more when she had beaten him at a game recently.

“Don’t know,” he said finally. “Maybe.”

“That’s fine. You can practice what you’re going to say, even if you end up deciding not to.” Jisa let her Sight rest on him for a moment, trying to figure out if there was anything more complicated than indecision in the rippling grass behind those thorny hedge-walls, and then frowned at the board and selected her own piece to move.

Arkady’s reputation might have kept him safe from bullies, but it also meant he had zero friends, and that was a problem. He _was_ a fifteen-year-old boy, though, and no matter how convinced he was that everyone his age was out to humiliate him, he wasn’t immune to the charms of a particular female classmate.

Jisa had done some discreet scoping-out of her own, and she doubted the quite, polite third daughter of a minor noble had ever thought about Arkady’s charms, but at the very least, she seemed sweet, and unlikely to throw cruel words at him just for starting a conversation.

“Guess so,” Arkady said noncommittally. He moved another piece. “I’ve captured your commander.”

“I noticed. Good work, you caught me undefended again.” Jisa smiled winningly. “I’ve still got half my cavalry, but…you know what, I’m definitely not winning this one.” The time-candle had nearly burned down. She held up her hands. “I forfeit.”

The grin that flashed across his face was very brief, but worth it. Jisa stood up. “I’ll see you next week?”

She let him slip out of the room ahead of her, and took a couple of minutes to scribble down some notes in Melody’s cipher, which she had learned as well. Then she stood up and stretched. The room she used, next to the office that had once been Melody’s and was now Terrill’s, had probably begun its life as a linen-closet, and it wasn’t very big.

To her surprise, the adjacent door was already ajar, and there were voices inside. Including one very familiar voice. Which would have been extremely welcome a year ago, and was now approximately the last thing she wanted to hear.

No help for it. Jisa took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and nudged the door open. She pasted a smile on her face; it was even half-genuine. “Welcome home, Melody.”

Melody returned the smile for a moment, before it transformed to a scowl. “Jisa. What’s this I hear about you seeing patients alone?”

 _Here it comes._ Jisa pulled the door fully shut, and then clasped her hands behind her. “Terrill decided I was ready,” she said. “Only very straightforward patients, and we talk about everything before and after.”

“Straightforward.” Melody’s lips thinned. “Who did you just finish seeing?”

“Arkady Mavelan,” Jisa said, trying to keep her shoulders from rising up around her ears.

Melody was silent for a long moment, her eyes still for once; she was glaring at Terrill. Finally, she turned, pacing towards the window.

“Sit down, Jisa,” she said, her voice dangerously mild.

Jisa sat.

Melody turned back to face her, hands fluttering in front of her like autumn leaves in the wind. “I very much want to be angry with you. You _know_ Arkady is the furthest thing from a simple patient. However, I can’t _actually_ shout at you for following Terrill’s instructions. Even if you should really, really have known better.”

Jisa didn’t say anything. Melody could think she had been caught up in trying to please Terrill and hadn’t questioned his judgement – she had known Melody wouldn’t approve, possibly for good reason, and she had gone along with it anyway.

“Terrill.” Melody’s voice was even more icily calm. “I’d like to ask you what you were thinking _._ Jisa is _twelve_. Precocious or not, she’s hardly ready to be thrown in headfirst.”

Terrill rubbed his eyes. “She’s as skilled with her Gift as I am,” he said. “Better, really.”

“Yes, I know that,” Melody snapped. “Our Gifts aren’t everything. She has good intuitions, most of the time, but you absolutely can’t expect her to have the maturity or judgement to handle something tricky that comes up on the fly, without any backup. At the very least, she just doesn’t have the life experience to really _get_ the situations half our patients are in.”

It stung. Jisa tried not to let it show, but she hated hearing Melody say, out loud, to Terrill no less, that she wasn’t mature enough for this job.

Melody’s hand darted to her sleeve. “You’re not a strong enough Mindspeaker to coach her from another room, are you?”

“…No,” Terrill admitted. “But I haven’t disagreed with anything she’s done, yet.”

That was smoothing it over, Jisa thought. They _had_ argued over more than one impulse decision she had made, after the fact – it was just that she nearly always won those debates. She had grown up around Vanyel; she knew how to make a convincing case.

“I’d prefer you’d taken my instructions seriously,” Melody said, very mildly. “I told you she wasn’t going to be ready to work unsupervised for another two or three years at least.”

“Yes, well, have you seen the waiting-list we have right now?” Terrill snapped back at her, gesturing. “There’s no way to fit everyone into my schedule, _and_ Aber keeps throwing emergencies at us.”

Melody folded her arms. “Then you prioritize. And tell him no when you’re full. Damn it, Terrill!” She looked angry enough to spit. “If you’ve damaged any of my patients with this foolery, I’m – I’ll – I don’t know but you won’t like it at _all_.” She spun on her heels again, back turned to them.

“Melody?” Jisa said, very tentatively. “I…did call for backup. A few times. Terrill isn’t a strong enough Mindspeaker to initiate a link, but _I’m_ more than strong enough to hold one.”

One of those times had been when Arkady almost threw a fireball at her, after she asked him what had, in hindsight, been one question too many about his parents. If he had _really_ lost control, there wouldn’t have been anything Terrill could have done about it – but he had been teetering on the edge, barely hanging onto his temper, and Jisa had reflexively flung enough of her Projective Empathy at him that he nearly lost consciousness. It had still left her very shaken, and she had gratefully handed over an equally-shaken Arkady to Terrill when he came running, and then gone and sat at the main Healers’ station until she felt less like passing out.

Arkady had actually had the grace to apologize, the next time he showed up, which had been three weeks later. Clearly even he felt guilty about nearly blasting a girl several years younger than him.

She was still irritated with Terrill, though. He had decided the appropriate response to the incident was to put in a block that was about three times stronger than it needed to be, while Arkady was still dazed enough to go along with it. Jisa had fixed that, which had earned her back some of Arkady’s goodwill, but it must have given him a very difficult time in the interim – he’d been barely able to hold a conversation.

“She showed good judgement in terms of when to call in support,” Terrill said. “I would always drop whatever I was doing.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” Then Melody turned back, sighing. “Fine. It makes it _very slightly_ better. Terrill, I understand the pressures you were working under, I really do. And Jisa is very good in a lot of ways.”

Better than Terrill in a lot of ways, Jisa thought, not without smugness. She succeeded at keeping it off her face, though; it would hardly help her cause with Melody right now.

Melody jerked her robes straight and sat in the remaining chair. “Terrill, we work with extremely vulnerable people. It takes _one_ wrong word to set someone back by months, and Jisa just isn’t experienced enough to avoid that.”

Jisa carefully didn’t say that she was pretty sure Terrill wasn’t either. Melody would argue that at least he was an adult, and knew his limits, which Jisa agreed was mostly true. It infuriated her sometimes, how it seemed like he always did the minimum possible with his patients, but going slowly and carefully _was_ a good way to avoid stupid mistakes.

“I hope to all the gods you at least didn’t give her any Heralds,” Melody said dryly.

“Why?” Terrill’s eyebrows rose. “I mean, I mostly didn’t, they tend to be complicated patients, but she’s seen a couple of trainees. Didn’t see what the problem was.”

“For the love of all the gods.” Melody flung up her hands. “If you tried to give her Vanyel,” she said conversationally, “I’m going to throw you out the window right now.”

“He didn’t!” Jisa jumped in quickly. “And I would’ve said no anyway! That’s a conflict of interest!”

“Thank the gods you’ve got that much sense at least.” The corner of Melody’s lip twitched slightly. Her voice, when she spoke again, was softer. “Jisa, I’m not here to cut you down. I know how hard you’re trying, how much you want to help, and I know that five years of formal training is a lot more than most of us get. Still, you have to see that your age and position are relevant here.”

“My position?” Jisa said blankly.

Melody’s shoulder lifted and fell. “You’re the King’s daughter. A lot of people are going to be afraid of looking bad in front of you, and that might mean they keep things to themselves that you needed to hear.”

That was, somehow, a point that had never occurred to her before. It felt very unfair. “Maybe,” Jisa said dully.

“I’m not too worried about most patients.” Melody’s hand went to tuck back a curl of hair. “But Heralds in particular – it’s going to matter a great to them, who your father is. Would _you_ want to confess your deepest fears and insecurities with someone if you knew it might get back to your King?”

Jisa felt her cheeks grow hot, tears sprouting in her eyes. “But I _wouldn’t_!” she protested. “Melody, I wouldn’t ever tell him! That’s unethical.” The mere accusation hurt like a knife to the gut.

“And I believe that. Still, I know Heralds, and the shapes of problems they tend to need to see one of us for. When someone’s already tangled up in guilt and worrying they’re not good enough, the _last_ thing they need is to be trying to figure out if they can trust you. Again, it would be one thing if you were an adult, but tell me honestly, do you think most twelve-year-old girls are good at keeping secrets?”

“…No,” Jisa admitted.

“Right.” Melody turned back to Terrill. “No Heralds and no trainees. Ever. Not until she’s, oh, at least sixteen. And I want to do a full assessment with _every_ patient she’s seen unsupervised, make sure things are all right.” 

It was humiliating, but Jisa knew it wasn’t intended to be a punishment. She nodded, desperately trying to hold back tears.

Melody’s eyes moved to the window, then the doorframe, her face thoughtful. “Jisa,” she said finally. “I’d like you there for part of those sessions. I’ll let you take the lead at the start, as you normally would, and I’ll just observe. Might as well make this a formal assessment of _your_ skills as well.” Another thin smile. “Hellfires, maybe Terrill’s right, and you’ve grown up more than I was able to see.”

Hope flared in Jisa’s chest. She nodded, forcing her breath to stay slow and level. “Of course,” she said, and her voice barely shook at all.


	9. Chapter Nine

_I hate autumn._

Stef stood under the inn’s awning, shivering and glaring out at the hammering rain. He had been putting off his departure in hopes it would let up, but that didn’t seem likely to happen soon.

Six months had slipped by, somehow; it was almost Harvestfest. Stef hadn’t expected or intended his journey to take so long, but in the end he had spent nearly a month just with the kyree. They loved music, and he had been happy to stay, drinking in their strange and wonderful sounds. Interweaving drum-rhythms, eerie shifting harmonies; more than anything, he craved a way to replicate their exotic music with human throats and instruments. Maybe with a chorus of singers, and he could weave in one of those new steel-stringed gitterns as well…

Not to mention, their hot springs were absolutely wonderful. If only they were a little closer to Haven, he thought wistfully, they’d be the perfect treat to show a new lover.

Stef’s hand drifted to his throat, touching the stone there, knotted to a leather thong. Hyrryl had given him the talisman – it was kyree magic, she said. _If ever you need our help, you need simply spill a drop of your blood to lend power, then hold it in your hand and Call._

Aroon was the one who had taught Stef the Call, an eerie wolf-like howl. It hurt his throat to replicate the cry, and he wasn’t sure when a pack of intelligent wolves who lived more than three hundred miles away from Haven would ever be what he needed, but Stef was still incredibly pleased with himself that the kyree had offered.

Hyrryl had asked that he keep the location of their clan a secret. It didn’t bother him much. Medren wouldn’t care, and he wasn’t intending to share his adventure broadly anyway. It felt oddly private, he doubted the Court would _believe_ him, and it gave him an excuse to claim more of the credit for his Master composition. He would tell Breda where he had picked up the idea, of course; hiding the source of his inspiration from her felt wrong, and she knew his style too well, she would suspect something and drag it out of him anyway.

_I want to be home._

The homesickness hadn’t been so bad, for the most part, pushed back by the sheer number of shiny distractions. Still, sometimes he would find himself awake in the middle of the night, longing to hear Medren snoring next to him.

Herald Vanyel was probably back by now. They had been expecting him in spring, according to Medren, and Stef was annoyed to have missed his homecoming. Maybe it was for the better – it wasn’t like his fantasies were particularly realistic. And at least he could greet Vanyel as a full Bard, and maybe even hope that his composition would impress the man.

Gods, he couldn’t wait to be back in what was apparently the _only_ city in Valdemar that had any shaych scene to speak of. He had managed a few not-totally-satisfactory flings in larger towns, but on net, his journey had meant the longest dry spell since he had turned fourteen, and Stef didn’t like it any more than he would have predicted.

He would be home soon enough, he reassured himself, and the tavern would still be there.

* * *

Rain lashed at the glass-paned window, from a dreary sky.

“Sure you’re up for this?” Randi asked. For the third time. He was sitting up in bed, warmly bundled in blankets; there were pain-lines around his eyes and mouth, but he seemed reasonably alert.

“I’m sure,” Vanyel said firmly.

Only a day left to go until Sovvan. Karis and company would be arriving tonight, and yet again, Vanyel was going to be on duty for approximately the entire day.

Another three months had flown by. Savil was continuing to poke around with her partial Gate-threshold, using the notes Vanyel had brought back from the Tower – even with that, the instructions were incomplete, but there were only so many possible configurations, and Savil thought she was bound to hit on the right one eventually just by trial and error. Vanyel had re-mastered nearly every routine technique, including basic Web-work, and he was now banging his head against the trick of working through another Herald’s mage-gift. Savil, in the process of diagnosing what was going wrong for him, was close to mastering it herself.

They had new Guard-posts under construction on the northern border, the mages from Baires were finally up to speed enough to be worth their while, and even the Mavelan youngster was making slow but steady progress. _He’ll make an excellent combat mage if I can ever teach him to keep his temper_ , Savil had said a few times – a dark reminder that they might soon badly need combat mages. Unless Vanyel could thread the needle of their future another way.

 _That’s what Randi’s putting on you,_ Kilchas had said. _You’re the only one who can avoid war. It’d be a damned shame to get caught repeating history._

Well, he was doing everything he could, slowly but surely learning the foundations that went into Leareth’s plan.

Randi watched him with thoughtful eyes. “Anything you can tell me about, Van?”

“Unfortunately, most of the recent stuff is maths that even Yfandes can’t make head or tails of.” He sighed. “I’m very much not sure how to look for errors in something I can’t even get my head around. ‘Fandes and I are planning to bang our heads on it some more tonight.” Often, lately, they would claim one of the spare Work Rooms, more for the privacy it offered than for magical protection, and Vanyel would stick sheets of canvas to the walls and let Yfandes use his hands, or just scribble directly on the stone with a bit of chalk.

“I understand. I know you’ll do your best.” Randi closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Generalities?”

“Well, it’s still following the pattern where Leareth points out a possible risk that I completely failed to think of on my own, and then says he’ll explain his solution to it later once I have more context. And we’re still entirely in the realm of theory. I can walk you through some examples if you want–”

Randi lifted a hand. “I know I should at some point, but I’m a little too foggy for bizarre hypotheticals right now.” A pause. “Maybe a simple one. They are generally fascinating.”

“All right.” Vanyel waited until Randi’s eyes were on him. “So we’ve talked a bit about building an infant god that’s open to correction, and why it’s necessary to do that. The danger is that it’ll try to solve the problem as specified, not the way you mean it in your head. Even if you’re trying to let it play around with something extremely simple, where it seems like there just aren’t any ways for it to go wrong.”

It always helped to talk about it, he found, with as many people as possible – it forced him to notice the assumptions and leaps of inference he was making that weren’t quite explicit or acknowledged. Leareth had asked him to be discreet, but he trusted Randi, and nothing he had learned yet was even close to a roadmap on how to build a god.

“Exactly like a human toddler,” Randi said, smirking.

Vanyel couldn’t help chuckling. “Anyway, a point that Leareth made to me, that I thought was interesting, is that reality is extremely unconstrained – we don’t often think of it this way, because our minds impose a lot of constraints on what feels possible, but there are a huge number of possible activities we could take at any given moment.” Degrees of freedom, Leareth had called it. “We have something we call ‘common sense’ – and littles don’t have so much, yet, which is why their behaviour can be so perversely literal. It’s a thousand things that we don’t know we know, options we rule out without ever thinking them out loud.” He paused, trying to remember one of the examples Leareth had used. “If we were up on the astronomy tower, and I gave you an egg and told you to bring it to the bottom as fast as possible, you wouldn’t think of flinging it off the side, even though that _is_ the fastest solution by far, because it’s implicit in the request that the egg remains unbroken and edible. I don’t need to say that – but it’s not a law of reality stopping you, and that is technically the best way to solve the problem as I posed it.”

Randi nodded. “I…think I understand.” He rubbed his eyes. “This is related to the thing where making a being more clever doesn’t do anything toward making them more moral?”

“…I suppose it’s related.” Vanyel leaned back in the chair. “It’s hard enough just asking how things work, the rules of reality that bind what outcomes will result from all the possible actions. The question of how things _ought_ to work is an entirely separate one – we think about it so effortlessly, it feels obvious, but it’s much messier and more complicated than just cause-and-effect. Morality isn’t a law of reality, that a clever enough being will discover on their own, the way they’ll discover that objects fall downward.”

Randi grimaced. “You’re making it sound like ethics is arbitrary.”

Vanyel shook his head. “Not arbitrary, just has a lot packed into it, and it’s much easier to imagine a possible being that wants very different things than we do – I mean, we see this on a small scale just between people. Anyway. Another example – it’s a bit of a silly one, but imagine you’re training a baby god, and you’ve given it the goal of winning at Hinds and Hounds. To you, that obviously means learning and following the rules, outthinking your opponent on that limited playing-field – but can you think of some ways _other_ than following the rules that a creative being could try to win?”

Randi closed his eyes. “Um… Bribe its opponent, I guess? Bribe whoever’s judging the match. Move the game-pieces sneakily while the opponent is distracted…”

“Right.” Vanyel nodded. “Not to mention they could drug their opponent, kill them, or master compulsions or Mindhealing and directly force them to cause them to make mistakes. And that doesn’t involve all the ways they could win by predicting their opponent’s thinking, and thus the moves they’re going to make, with enough accuracy to form a hidden counterstrategy, which would technically be following the rules. All of that is what you and I can think of, Randi, as mere humans. Meaning that it’s only the very beginning, when it comes to weird sideways methods of accomplishing that goal. Some of which could involve a lot of damage, to anything we haven’t thought to tell the god-being to care about.”

Randi shivered. “That’s rather frightening.”

“It is.” He took a deep breath, let it out. “One of the consequences of this, is that one can’t count on containing an infant god, because any kind of cage one could build for it is going to have cracks we can’t even perceive, and it _will_ find them. And it means one ought to be very, very cautious about drawing inferences from the actions the young godlet chooses, if the process is at all opaque – because as it becomes more powerful, it will start to see more options, including the weird ones that we can’t even imagine or understand, that technically solve a problem twenty times better than anything else, but only because they involve, I don’t know, killing all the fish in the world, or something else you forgot to inform it was bad.”

“Right.” Randi was actually nodding along. “That makes a lot of sense.” He shook his head. “As usual, now I’m going to be lying awake thinking of how that applies to politics.” He was silent for a moment, clearly deep in thought. “Van?” he said finally.

“Yes?”

Randi chewed his lip for a moment. “How is it really going, overall? I mean, we’re around the halfway-point of your being ready to fight again. There’s going to be a decision to make, in not that many months. Do we have any hope at all for negotiating something with him?”

Vanyel forced himself to meet Randi’s earnest eyes. _What am I supposed to say to you?_ He didn’t know what to do about the trust in Randi’s eyes. Also, Savil hadn’t entioned to the King that she thought his mage-gift would be ‘good as new’ by Midwinter. _Keep practicing like you have been,_ she had said with pride, _and you’ll be better than you ever were before._ Which was remarkable, really, but he supposed he hadn’t ever set aside time to practice the basics after the first couple of years, and he had gotten into some very sloppy habits during those years out on the Border. Ones he finally had the time and space to repair, whatever the cost of carving that out.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Randi, I’m not sure I could understand his work even if I had a decade. Yfandes thinks she could work her way through it, eventually, but we don’t have a decade. If the timeline is six months…” He flung up both hands, helplessly. “I might be able to keep him talking longer. I certainly won’t be anywhere near having a better counteroffer for him.”

“If you were to give him an ultimatum,” Randi said slowly. “That either he swears an oath not to do this, or we start a war. What would he do?”

Vanyel closed his eyes. “If his armies are anywhere near ready – and we have to assume the worst case – he would ride for the pass the same day.” Tears stung behind his closed eyelids. “Randi, _please_ don’t make me do that.”

“I’m not going to make you do anything.” Surprise in Randi’s voice. “You would if I ordered it?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” His mind felt like a pool of jagged-edged puzzle pieces, sliding past each other. “Randi, this is the fate of the whole world. It’s not just Leareth’s plan – gods, please at least let me talk to him long enough that we can get some of what he knows about this supposed future Cataclysm. If we’re going to annihilate each other out there, I want _someone_ left alive who knows.”

Was it strange how little they had spoken of Leareth’s fears about the ‘ripples’ that would come back and destroy civilization? It was an important factor, but it was so goddamned hard to think about. Easier to focus on the immediate future of Valdemar.

They had spoken even less of Leareth’s cryptic words around bringing back the dead. It was such a bizarre, uncomfortable concept, and it wasn’t strategically relevant in any immediate way. At the same time, though, it did have implications for Leareth’s plan – if he could gain the power to bring back his ten million sacrifices, as he had slipped in offhand a few times, did that make it meaningfully less bad? Vanyel had never been able to find purchase in thinking about that problem, but if they even made it that far, at some point he would have to.

Silence.

“Van. Hey.” He felt Randi’s hand on his arm. “I’m not going to order you to do anything you think is a terrible idea. I do trust your judgement, even if Tran sometimes thinks I shouldn’t. We’re going to find a way through this together, all right?”

“Sorry.” Vanyel swiped a hand across his eyes. “Didn’t mean to be dramatic.”

“I don’t blame you at all.” Randi’s voice was gentle. “Fate of the whole world. It _should_ be terrifying.”

* * *

Jisa yawned, stretched, and stared out at the gloomy dawn. It was the wettest autumn she remembered, and not the kind of rain that was fun to dance and play in – a few days after Harvestfest, it was already bitterly cold. The river rode high in its banks, enough that Mother didn’t want her taking the path near it.

She sighed, and turned to the fire she had just lit in their little grate. The kettle she had hooked above it ought to be almost boiling now, and she could make a pot of chava for the grownups and tea for herself before Melody arrived. Terrill, as usual, would show up at the absolute last moment.

Nearly three months, now, of rising before dawn six days out of seven. For the first couple of weeks, she had been so over the moon to be included – and that Melody’s explosion over her lack of supervision had been a relatively minor one – that she hadn’t minded at all. Now, it was starting to feel like less of a privilege. Mother said it was normal for a youngster her age to tend to sleep later, and right now Jisa hated mornings.

Melody had come back from the north toting three students, one of whom wasn’t even Gifted, and bursting with ideas and plans – for a new Collegium, better systems, everything that she and Jisa had once vaguely talked about. After the fight with Terrill, she had subjected Jisa to an entire day of tests, the same standards she had used to decide that her replacement up north was ready to work unsupported. At which point, with much back-and-forth, Melody had decided to create a new ranking system for students, like the main Healers’ Collegium had. Jisa was now a senior trainee, which meant she could see some established patients alone, but needed to discuss everything with Melody or Terrill afterward, and she had to be supervised with new patients.

Announcing that news to her parents had gone over better than she expected, too, maybe because she had managed to make it sound very official and properly-done. _I didn’t make senior trainee status until I was almost fifteen,_ Shavri had said. _I’m so proud of you, love._ Jisa felt a little bit bad about eliding how it had really happened, but not very. She _had_ passed the tests, on her own merit.

She was the only senior trainee for now – Jeren hadn’t quite passed. They had _another_ two new students; after their tiny new Collegium became official, Randi had sent out word of it as part of the usual Mindspeech-relay bulletins, and four people had showed up in the next month to be assessed. Only one was Gifted, but another had been interested in training anyway. So that meant four Gifted junior trainees, and Aber had arranged with Melody for some of the Healing-trainees who were interested to join in on lessons with the un-Gifted students, bringing their total to six. 

There had been another argument over the matter of some weird herb that, apparently, Vanyel and Dara had brought back from Kata’shin’a’in, and that Andrel was now trying to grow, with considerable frustration and limited results so far. No one had thought to mention it to Jisa. _What do you mean you haven’t tried it with anyone else_ , Melody had barked at Terrill, and there had been a mumbled explanation about limited supply, and within a week poor Alia had been been shipped off with a merchant-caravan headed for Seejay. It was a very long way, and they weren’t sure when to expect her back, but Melody already had all sorts of plans for how to study and measure the herb’s effects. Jisa didn’t know where Melody was getting half of her ideas, though she had a sneaking suspicion that Vanyel was involved – some of it sounded an awful lot like what he would come up with.

And those weren’t the only changes in her life.After the Midsummer exams, Jisa had been promoted to the final-year standard classes at the merit-based Collegium, which she would finish at Midwinter. There was higher curriculum that she could study if she wanted, but it would be closer to an apprenticeship in a particular area, and it wasn’t like she wanted to be an artificer or a treasury-clerk.

What _did_ she want?

Jisa was old enough to try to answer that question in earnest, now, rather than dreaming formlessly of fighting wars on the Border. She wasn’t going to be a mage, there was no indication she would be Chosen, and besides, she wasn’t a little girl anymore and she knew now that there was no glory in war even when the battles were won.

The obvious answer was that she would be a Mindhealer like Melody, helping build the new Collegium. It was exactly what she had wanted since she was seven, and yet it felt incomplete.

Why?

Maybe because there were so many other problems, and working with Melody would only solve a fraction of them. Orphaned children and animals dying, a whole world full of it, and maybe no one could fix all of it alone, but at the very least someone ought to try. She was sure Vanyel would agree. Jisa had convinced Treven to mostly stop eating meat – it hadn’t actually taken a lot of convincing – and Dara as well, but she was no longer sure that was a particularly efficient way to approach it. In Vanyel’s words, it didn’t scale.

Maybe it was because of Papa’s words to her, almost two years ago now. _There is a threat to the Kingdom, and within the next few years we might well find ourselves at war._ She and Stef had stumbled accidentally into the edges of something too big for either of them, and she had been very good and tried to set it aside, but it still hung in the back of her mind, and occasionally the little voice would add some new tidbit to her silent tally.

For the first time, she had really thought about the fact that if Randi and Shavri had married, she would be the presumptive heir. It would break Mother’s heart if Jisa ever said to her that she was sorry not to be in that world, so she hadn’t said it.

 _You would have made a good Queen,_ Papa had said to her once, wonderingly, after yet again their bedtime snuggles turned into discussing Kingdom policy. It had made Jisa feel warm inside for the entire next day.

She had the room toasty and the chava ready by the time Melody pushed her way through the door. “Good morning, Jisa – oh, thank you, that’s wonderful.” Her teacher took the proffered cup and sank into her chair.

They had only moved into the new space two weeks ago, once the Palace builders finished it; Melody had been thoroughly unimpressed with Jisa’s repurposed linen-closet, and had gone into a frenzy of planning and managed to get the necessary requisitions pushed through in a matter of days. Jisa had to wonder if she had cheated by recruiting Vanyel or Shavri to the cause. Now they had their own little block, with a central station like in the main House of Healing, and six cozy rooms opening off it, all with their own new shielding – Melody had jumped the queue on that too, by dint of requesting that Jisa ‘ask Vanyel nicely’. It seemed a bit ambitious to Jisa, the most they ever used at once was three, but Melody said they would grow into it.

“Chava,” Melody said, “is the best discovery of the last fifty years.” She brought the cup to her lips, inhaling the scent of it. Jisa had to agree that chava did smell quite nice – it just tasted awful. Melody, like Vanyel, loved it.

The door creaked open again, and Terrill closed it, yawning, and draped his lanky body into one of the chairs. About five seconds later, the morning bell rang.

Melody straightened up in her chair. “All right, everyone. Team meeting. Let’s go over the schedule.” They had their own book for it now on the desk, and Jisa’s duties involved writing up each day in chalk on the wall-slate. “I’m already quite full for today,” Melody went on. “Jisa, how many on the maybe-list?”

“Six,” Jisa said – she no longer needed any prompting on what to look up before Melody got there. “Three are already at the House of Healing, so they can be last minute.”

“We can’t fit that many today – Terrill, unless you’ve got more openings than I think?”

“I have two open slots,” Terrill said, dragging his fingers through his curly light-brown hair and making it stick out.

“I’ve got one. So that’s three, tops, unless one of us has a no-show – and assuming we don’t get any emergencies.” Melody frowned. “Jisa?”

“I can take Terrill’s second one by myself,” Jisa pointed out. It still made me feel warm every time Melody addressed her like she was just another grownup. “I was buddied when he saw her last week, so I know her. Then Terrill has another opening.”

“Let’s think about it. Terrill, remind me who that is?”

Terrill rolled his eyes. “It was a whole week ago, don’t know how you expect me to remember. Let me get my notes.”

* * *

Dara lowered the slate to her lap. “There, I think that covers everything. Questions?”

Randi, propped up in bed, shook his head. “No, that was very thorough. Thank you.”

Dara had been officially the King’s Own for nearly six months, now. It no longer felt odd or surprising to don Whites every morning, and she was even starting to find speaking at Council meetings boring rather than nerve-wracking. Her eighteenth name day had passed a month ago; she had celebrated it with her friends from the Heralds’ Collegium, many of whom were now going into Whites as well. She and Tran had moved into a shared suite soon after.

In her own life, things were…good. Comfortable. The larger situation was anything but.

“There are a few more things I wanted to discuss,” she said. “Er, if you’re up for it.”

“Go ahead.”

Dara glanced at the note she had made to herself. “You know Keiran is worried about raising enough troops without instituting a draft – which we can’t do until we’re willing to tell the Council _why_. Which is a decision I think we should reassess, but we can come back to that. I wanted to share another idea I had.”

“Oh?”

She took a deep breath. “You aren’t going to like it, but…remember what I mentioned in the debrief, about my contacts with the mercenary guilds in Jkatha? I think we should seriously consider hiring some of them.”

Randi frowned. “It’s been centuries since any Valdemaran monarch has hired mercenaries.”

“I know. Not since Seldasen’s time.” Dara made a face. “And those were…well, they were scraping the bottom of the barrel. The companies I made contacts with are a lot more reputable.”

Randi’s eyebrows rose. “Thus expensive, I imagine.”

“Not as much as you’d expect. Mercenaries are practically Jkatha’s main export – they’re very competitive. But, yes. I don’t think the prices they charge for infantry companies are worth it, or even cavalry; for that, Keiran agrees we’re better off drafting farmboys to fill out our numbers. I’m thinking of their smaller, specialized units.”

“Hmm.” Randi’s eyes were distant, but she thought he was interested.

“I’m especially interested in their elite infiltration teams,” Dara said.

Surprise. “You mean spies?”

“…Sort of. I talked to the company mage for a group that specializes in crossing enemy lines and wreaking havoc as a distraction.” She didn’t mention that she had narrowly held back from seducing the man. “Oh, and I didn’t mention – most of the companies have mages. Not always strong, but they’re usually _very_ well trained, and some of them have decades of experience working with the unit in question. That’s not something we’re going to be able to replicate in our own ranks.”

Randi’s eyes had widened slightly when she said the word ‘mage’. “I see.”

“I know you’ll need time to think about it.” Dara glanced over at the window, trying to gauge the angle of the light; the Palace bell for noon was probably about to ring, and that meant she had another meeting to get to soon. “I don’t think this is urgent – the advantage of mercenaries is that they don’t need training time, they show up ready to go. Still, I do think we should invest in relationships with some of these companies, to give ourselves the option of pulling them in on short notice if we must.”

“And I’m guessing you have a proposal for doing that?”

“Yes. I suggest we hire one of the sister companies. I know of at least one company that specializes in security for trade caravans, but they share winter quarters with several of the elite groups I mentioned; they’re a training-ground for new recruits. And the thing about these specialty groups is that they don’t just charge high prices, they can also afford to be very selective about their clients. I’m not sure my contact is enough to get one at all, much less coax them into dropping everything to come hundreds of miles on short notice. But if we can set up our own reputation, as a well-run kingdom that pays in coin in advance…”

“Right. And we can’t necessarily make a case to the Council for hiring a specialist company on standby, but we might be able to for road-security in the north.”

“All the new landholders up there will be pushing for it,” Dara agreed cheerfully. “We genuinely _do_ have a bandit problem.”

Somewhere in the distance, the Palace bell rang. Dara gathered her slate and stood.

Randi had a parting smile for her, despite his visible exhaustion. “Thank you. It’s worth considering.” 

* * *

“So?” Melody said. “Sovvan?”

“…Fine, actually?” Vanyel stopped and tried to actually think. “Relatively speaking. I felt pretty awful at the time, but I got through all the meetings and the Court function, and then I even went to sleep at a reasonable time.” After the reception finally ended, he had gone back to the privacy of his suite, lit some candles, and cried for a bit, before accepting Yfandes’ invitation to join her in the stables. “I was sensible and took the next day off, but I’m not even sure I needed to.” Just three days later, he felt entirely back to normal. 

“Well, I’m glad you did anyway.” She was smiling, face wreathed in steam from what was probably her fourth cup of chava for the day. The stuff had caught on like wildfire at Healers’ – Melody, instantly enamoured, had introduced it to Gemma, who had introduced it to Aber, who had made a deal with a merchant to import several cartloads of it from Rethwellan. For some reason Vanyel had never even considered that as an option; he wasn’t sure what his plan had been once his current supply ran out. Expect Dara to rescue him, probably.

Gemma said it was a godsend for surviving night shifts at her age. It had the same alertness-boosting effect as tea, according to Andrel, but significantly stronger – not as strong as something like gillyflower tea, much less the godawful Tayledras stimulant, but it didn’t have the attendant side effects either.

“How’s sleep been?” Melody went on.

“Fine. I’m due to talk to Leareth again any day now,” it had been three weeks, “so that’s going to throw things off again, but I think I’ve got pretty solid routines. Going to bed at the same time every night actually does help.”

“Told you.” Not quite a smirk. “And how are things between you and Yfandes?”

“Good. Really good.” He meant it. “Pretty much the only thing I could want different is more time to spend with her.” Which was ridiculous, on the face of it – she was in his mind all the time, when he wasn’t behind shields, and usually they went riding for at least a candlemark a day – but he still wanted it. “It’s fine,” he added quickly. “You don’t need to make Randi stop calling me in for meetings.”

“If you say so.” Melody smoothed down her robes. “Did you have that talk with your mother that we discussed?”

“Er, yes.” He looked down at his hands. “A few weeks ago.”

“And?”

Melody always made him spell it out. His throat ached, speaking about it, but he could manage without switching to Mindspeech. “I told her that it’s hurtful when she constantly asks me if I’m seeing anyone and I would appreciate it if she stopped. She seemed very confused about why,” her helpless, wounded look had made his chest twinge with guilt, that he was so goddamned sensitive about it, “but she hasn’t done it again.”

“Ah. Good. I know that wasn’t an easy thing to ask for, so thank you for making the effort.”

He lifted his eyes to her, smile crookedly. “It does make it less nerve-wracking when I visit. It’s still exhausting, my family is so _loud_ , but I don’t feel so much like I have to brace myself constantly. And now Mother has another granddaughter in town to fawn over, so that keeps her distracted.” He was getting to know Ariel a bit, after having only met her briefly when she was a child. He liked her. She reminded him a bit of Lissa at that age, but with considerably more tact.

Melody glanced at the window. “And with your father?”

“He invites me over to drink brandy and ask for my opinion. And complain about taxes. Best I can expect, I think.”

“Mmm. Did you think any more about what I asked you last time?”

“Yes.” He pressed his hands together over his knee. “Melody, I am lonely, but trying to find a lover doesn’t seem like a good solution. I don’t know when I would find _time_ for a serious relationship, I don’t know where I’d meet someone I have enough in common with that it would work out, and I don’t see the point in a casual fling.” It was what most Heralds fell back on, but he had never really understood the appeal. Tran had been different.

He shrugged again. “I have plenty of amazing people in my life. It’s not the same, but it’s good enough.”

“That’s fair.” Her eyes were sympathetic. “Relationships are complicated and difficult at the best of times, especially for Heralds, and even more so for you. I do hope you stay open to the idea, but I won’t push.” She fell silent for a moment. “You’ve got enough of your herbs?”

“I have a month’s worth. Andrel gave me all of the first picking.” He felt a bit bad about that, but Healers’ would have more of it soon if Alia’s trade-mission succeeded, and it was probably ill-advised for him to run out and stop taking it suddenly.

Melody nodded crisply. “Good. Anything bothering you in particular, that you want to talk about?”

He tried to think. “Nothing new. Everything is basically fine.” Incredibly enough, given the enormity of the greater situation. “I mean, I do want to talk through some of the things with Leareth, but that’s not really what I’m meant to be seeing you for.”

“Not exactly, no. Though it’s always very educational.” Melody leaned forward, hand under her chin. “Seems we don’t have a clear problem to work on. Which brings me to what I wanted to discuss. Vanyel, I never thought I would have this conversation, but I’m wondering whether it makes sense at this point for you to keep seeing me regularly. I absolutely don’t mind, if you want to – I don’t want to put any pressure on you to stop.”

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Still, you’re doing incredibly well lately, and I’m not sure you need it. I know two candlemarks a week isn’t a trivial thing for you to fit in.” She sipped from her chava, and set it down. “You’re always welcome to drop by, of course, or schedule a one-off with me.”

‘Dropping by’ was a bit less appealing now that there was a chance he would run into Jisa, Vanyel thought. He had crept sheepishly past and avoided looking at her, the first time she in the central room when he arrived at his designated time. She must have picked up on his embarrassment and it hadn’t happened again; he had a suspicion that she felt him coming with Thoughtsensing before he sensed her and discreetly took herself into one of the side rooms.

“No need to decide right away,” Melody added. “Think about it.”

“I’m thinking.” He closed his eyes, and with a slight effort, Reached out past Melody’s shields. It wasn’t too hard; he had done the work himself. _:’Fandes?:_

She hadn’t been listening in throughout, so it took a moment for her to catch up. _:Hmm. I would rather you have all the help you need, but she does have a point:_

 _:I think so too:_ And it was hard for him to find time, that was true, but it was a cost for her as well. He hadn’t ever really thought about that before, but thanks to Jisa’s suppertime chatter, he knew exactly how swamped their tiny team was. _:I’d hate to think I’m pushing out someone who needs it more:_

_:Chosen, she did say she wouldn’t mind and doesn’t want to pressure you:_

_:I know. I don’t feel pressured:_ He trusted Melody – she really wouldn’t begrudge the time. _:Just, maybe we can try it? And if you’re worried, I promise I’ll listen to you and go see her again:_

Acknowledgement. _:All right. But I’m holding you to that:_

* * *

It was one of the rare audiences that Randi still took himself, now reduced to one every two weeks. Petitioners could choose to wait rather than attending one of the more frequent audiences that Tran, Vanyel himself, or one of the other senior Heralds hosted. Since it was well known by now that all of them had the authority to offer solutions to practical problems, the main attendants were those who wanted the King himself for symbolic reasons, like visiting nobles presenting their children. Or the unbearably pompous, for whom no one else would do.

It was even more tedious than the usual sort of audience. Vanyel would rather have been just about anywhere else, but his presence really did make it go more smoothly, and he never needed to do much. _Just stand here and be Herald-Mage Vanyel Demonsbane to keep them in line._

Randi could still, barely, walk the distance from his suite to the throne room, and insisted on it. He was sitting up straight in the well-padded throne, listening attentively; he had to be uncomfortable, with only mild painkillers and Shavri painblocking for thirty seconds at a time in between petitioners, but he was holding up well enough.

There was some sort of commotion at the door, Vanyel noted. He glanced over to catch Shavri’s eye. _:Do you know what–:_

Before he could even finish the question, a smear of scarlet in the corner of his vision tugged his attention back.

“…Stefen?” he breathed, not realizing he had spoken out loud until Randi shot him a confused look.

The blue-clad Guard at the door must have recognized the young Bard, or else Stefen had made a convincing case for himself in about five seconds – before Vanyel could even think to move, Stefen was being ushered forward. He stopped a dozen yards back, politely waiting until Randi had dismissed the current speaker with some appropriate formalities and flattery.

 _He’s done some growing up, that’s for sure–_ The thought trailed off into fragments of confusion and heat. Stefen was still shorter than Vanyel himself, and skinny as a reed, but his face was that of a young man and not a boy. Chiseled cheekbones, stubborn chin, hazel eyes full of quick intelligence–

Vanyel wrenched his eyes away. _No stop thinking that please stop–_

Too late. There was no denying his first thought, which was that Stefen was ridiculously, unreasonably attractive, and the fact that it was horribly inappropriate of him to be feeling that way did nothing to convincing his mind or body otherwise.

Stefen advanced on the cue of Shavri’s nod. Vanyel could barely track it; his cheeks were warm and he was far too aware of Stefen hovering in his peripheral vision.

 _Pull yourself together, Herald._ He owed the young Bard a polite, proper welcome, not awkwardly avoiding eye contact like an infatuated teenager. Still, it took every ounce of self-control he had to keep his face calm, and lift his head to look at–

Stefen, eyes fixed on him, froze on the spot, two spots of pink appearing high on his cheekbones.

 _Oh, gods, this is even worse._ Vanyel couldn’t tear his eyes away, even though the silence was probably dragging out noticeably, and he couldn’t imagine what Randi and Shavri must be thinking right now.

Stefen was the one who found his composure first, turning to Randi and kneeling formally. “King Randale.”

It wasn’t until seconds later, with his brain finally starting to work again, that Vanyel noticed what he really should have seen immediately – Stef’s crimson tunic and cloak were soaked, clinging to his body, and he was pale, shivering, and visibly out of breath.

“Get up, Stef,” Randi said, amused. “It’s good to see you again, lad. Care to tell me why you’re getting mud all over my floor?”

“I heard you had an audience. Thought perhaps I could be of service.” Stef closed his eyes and hummed a note.

Some of the tension left Randi’s face. “Oh. Gods. I shouldn’t – Stef – you don’t have to. I’ll manage fine for today. Please go change out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia, or I’m going to have Breda after me.”

Stefen held his ground. “I’ve been gone six months, King Randale. Didn’t want to make you wait any longer.” His eyes turned towards Vanyel, who quickly looked the other way before Stefen could catch him staring. _Damn it, what’s wrong with you?_

“I do appreciate your willingness to help.” Randi turned. “Van, since Stefen here insists on staying, could I trouble you to find him a change of clothes? We ought to have something or other back there.”

Vanyel managed to keep his face under control, but it was a near thing. “Of course. Stefen, this way.” He fixed his eyes straight ahead, and marched.

The back room, where Randi usually prepared for his audiences, did in fact have a supply-closet, which proved to contain a spare Bardic uniform. Not in anything close to Stefen’s size, but it would have to do.

He turned, too abruptly, and held it out. “Here. I’ll duck out.”

Stefen made no attempt to reach for it. “Herald Vanyel, it’s _really_ good to see you again.”

 _Please stop smiling at me like that._ Vanyel nodded. “It’s good to see you as well, Stefen. I would like to hear more about it later.” Once he had his disobedient hindbrain under control and could actually pay attention. “For now, Randi’s waiting.”

“Right.” Stefen hesitated, then reached for the bundle of cloth. Another quicksilver smile flashed across his face. “Thank you, Vanyel.”

“You’re welcome.” He turned away, his skin still tingling where Stefen’s fingers had brushed his.

* * *

Stef set down the lute on its stand and sat, folding his hands across his lap and pasting a smile on his lips. _Never show weakness._ He had expected to perform in front of Breda and Dellar, and probably a few others from the Bardic Council – but not in front of the King, much less Herald Vanyel.

A beat of hushed silence, and then thunderous applause.

Stef ducked his head, cheeks hot. He had been hoping for a good reception, if not quite daring to expect it. The piece had been inspired by the strange harmonics that the kyree used, but there was only so much he could coax his own voice and lute into reproducing, to really do it justice would take a whole chorus. Maybe someday…

The lyrics were probably cryptic to anyone who had never seen the kyree’s caverns, with their incredible profusion of lights, testaments to hundreds of lives. _All those lights / burning with untold stories / each of them one more memory / to carry on now._

Time slipped, and suddenly Breda was clapping him on the shoulder, pulling him to his feet. “That was truly remarkable, Stef. I haven’t heard anything so creative in decades.” Her voice was ever so slightly choked, and she gripped his arm and looked into his eyes for a moment before pulling him into her arms. Right there, in front of everyone.

 _I missed you,_ he thought but didn’t say out loud.

When Breda finally released him, Stef saw that Randi was still seated, but he was smiling broadly. Beside him, Vanyel was rising from his chair. Crossing the room–

“That was incredible,” he said, reaching out to grip Stef’s arm. “Truly incredible.”

 _Oh gods, I’ve never seen him smile like that._ Having it aimed at him was blinding. Stef blinked, not sure if he was actually dizzy or just overwhelmed by it.

“Thank you,” he managed. Again, he found himself noticing the changes. Vanyel’s hair was a lot shorter than he remembered, barely covering his ears, and almost entirely white. His face was… It was hard to name _what_ was different, but something was. Looser, more relaxed.

“I’m serious. What was that chord progression near the end? I’ve never heard anything like it.” Vanyel closed his eyes, humming.

“Oh. That.” Stef fought for balance. “I suppose it’s technically a minor seventh resolving to a fourth and then going to the root, but it’s actually from a different scale I heard in some of the music up north, with five notes instead of seven in the octave.” It had taken him ages to figure out why it sounded so strange, and even longer to work out the notation for it.

“What?” Vanyel’s silver eyes were alight. “I have to know how that works. _Which_ five notes?”

“Well, there were two different variations I heard.” Stef was relaxing, now, warming to the topic. “One is mostly based on the minor scale, only leaving out the second and the sixth, and there’s a different one that starts out as though it’s a major scale, only the seventh is flat, and it’s missing the third, and the sixth as well…”

“Fascinating!” Vanyel really did seem interested; his fingers were even moving in midair, unconsciously, as though searching for the chord. “Can you show me?”

“Of course, just let me…” Stef darted over to snatch his lute. “So if we start here…” _I had no idea he knew so much about music._

A long time later, he surfaced to find that they had drifted over to the side of the room, and someone was hovering nearby.

“Breda?” He shook himself slightly. “I’m so sorry, I got caught up–”

“That’s entirely all right.” She was smiling fondly. “Van, I’m pleased to know you remember something from my class. Stef, we’re going to go chat now, but you’re welcome to stay here and talk Vanyel’s ear off as long as you wish.” A raised eyebrow. “Unless you’d like a chance to escape while you can, Van? I’m sure you have plenty on your plate for tonight.”

“Please, no.” Vanyel held up both hands. “I don’t mind at all. It’s been _ages_ since I had anyone to talk music with.”

Breda’s hands went to her hips. “In case you’ve forgotten, I did say you could come by my rooms anytime. You’re just too damned busy to have fun. Heralds!” A disgusted toss of her head, softened by a smile, and she patted Vanyel’s shoulder and slipped away.

Stef found his voice. “I didn’t know you knew Breda. You had a class with her?” It was weird seeing her be so familiar with him.

“It was seventeen years ago.” Vanyel actually looked self-conscious. “I only took the introductory class. I’ve got a tiny bit of Bardic Gift, and Savil insisted I needed to train it along with all the others.” He made a face. “I’m sure she did nag me to come by, at the time, but it’s hardly my fault I forgot.”

Leave aside the amazing tidbit that Vanyel Demonsbane had the Bardic Gift, minor or not – he hadn’t known that. Stef narrowed his eyes. “You did not learn all of that in one class.”

“Well, no.” An embarrassed smile. “To tell the truth, I spent my entire childhood dreaming of being a Bard. I studied a bit on my own. Anyway, you still know ten times as much music theory as I do. Care to show me something else?”

 _He wants to keep talking to me._ Breda’s teasing had given Stef a moment of cold terror, that Vanyel had only been humouring him and hadn’t actually wanted to be lectured for ten minutes straight, but he’d had the chance to politely excuse himself, and hadn’t taken it.

Besides, Stef was good at reading people, and Vanyel clearly _was_ enjoying himself.

 _Don’t smile too much, you look like an idiot._ “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an epic new metafanfic of this fic that has appeared! References book 3. https://archiveofourown.org/works/24065107


	10. Chapter Ten

Jisa stood in front of the door and tugged her gown straight, unsure why she felt so nervous. She took a deep breath, and knocked.

The door opened. “Who is it – oh! Jisa!” Treven’s face lit up with a smile. “What are you doing here?” He had a room to himself, the only benefit of his rank as far as she could tell – behind him, she could see that it was neat as a pin. Which shouldn’t have been irritating, he wasn’t being a clean person _at_ her, but it was.

She forced her feet not to shuffle, and looked him in the eyes. “I wanted to know if you’re free tonight. Um, there’s a party for my friend, and I was told I can bring a guest. I think it would make him feel very honoured if you were there.” She had felt quite clever for coming up with it.

“Which friend?”

Jisa tucked her hands behind her back, to avoid the temptation of tugging on her dress again. “Stef. Bard Stefen, now, he was officially promoted.”

“Wow! That’s so wonderful.” Treven managed to sound like he genuinely meant it. “Where and when? I do have an engagement, but I can reschedule for a chance to hear him play.”

“It’s in Lord Ashkevron’s suite in the Palace. Lady Treesa is hosting.” It had come as a bit of a surprise to her, but Lady Treesa – her grandmother by blood, Jisa now knew, what an odd thought – had been ecstatic at Stef’s return, and peppered him with invitations to visit in the two weeks since his return. _Well, she does love music._ Medren was probably the one who had put her up to actually hosting a celebration, but Jisa had no doubt Treesa had thrown everything into it.

“Oh. Herald Vanyel’s father, right?” Treven looked even more impressed. “Will he be there?”

Treven clearly still had a touch of hero-worship for Vanyel, Jisa thought. She was trying not to find it hilarious, or at least not to giggle to his face about it. “I should think so. Sunset bell is when it starts. But don’t come early, it’ll make Lady Treesa stressed.” If Jisa knew her at all, she was probably tearing her hair out right now over worrying if the decorations would be ready. _I’m not sure Stef knows what’s about to hit him._ Lady Treesa going all out for an occasion sounded honestly terrifying.

Well, it would be funny to watch, anyway.

“Should I wear anything special?” Treven said, tugging at his sleeve.

“Formal Greys will do, I think.” Jisa smiled. “And make sure you’re prepared for Lady Treesa to fawn all over you. Hmm, maybe we can have a signal if you need to be rescued.”

Treven laughed. “That’s very thoughtful. I’m sure I’ll be all right, but maybe we ought to anyway.”

* * *

His mother, Vanyel reflected, really had gone above and beyond. Their rooms was barely recognizable, every wall and surface decorated with glittering garlands, yew berries, winter hothouse flowers, and extravagant numbers of candles, enough that he was mildly worried about the fire risk – well, at least there were two mages present to intervene if any candles did get knocked over. The rain had finally switched for snow, blanketing the ground outside, and the decor had a strong Midwinter theme. At least it was better than pink and frilly.

He and Savil had arrived late, and the party was already in full swing. Despite being about six times larger than his own quarters, the suite felt packed. A knot of Bardic students, probably Stef and Medren’s yearmates, were jumping on the chance to be in the same room as so many Heralds, already plying Savil for stories from her Border days. Somewhat to his surprise, they had left him alone so far. _I suppose I’m a little too intimidating._

Shavri was there, though not Randi; he was probably asleep already. Lissa was in high form, cheeks flushed, regaling Medren with some tale or other. Trainee Ariel was there, looking quite sharp in her new formal Greys. Father had briefly showed his face, greeted Vanyel, gulped a cup of wine, and then retreated to his study in disgust, clearly annoyed by the horde of mostly-strangers who had appeared in his home. Vanyel had never had the thought before that Father might not like crowds, and it felt odd to consider.

Stefen, as befitted the occasion, was very much the center of attention, and loving every moment of it.

 _I shouldn’t mind._ Really, it hadn’t been at all realistic to hope he would have much time to talk to the young Bard – obviously Stefen was going to be very popular tonight. _Maybe I’ll invite him and Medren for tea later._ He had snatched a few more conversations with Stef after various meetings and audiences; the young man was formally assigned to Randi now, playing for him in all but the most private of meetings. He had forgotten how astute Stef’s political observations could be – they were sometimes off-base, but with a core of insight that often caught him off-guard. _He sees things I don’t._

He stood against the wall, sipping from his second cup of wine and watching Stefen play for Lady Treesa, Jisa, and Treven. He had been surprised to see the young heir there as Jisa’s guest, but it was a good idea. The lad deserved a chance to relax and enjoy himself.

Stefen was so obviously in his element, Vanyel thought with a smirk, playing yet another sappy love song at Treesa’s flirtatious request, hitting just the right amount of dramatically overdone – Jisa was stifling giggles, but Mother was enraptured. _He’s got her wrapped around his little finger._ It was good to see her looking so happy, cheeks rosy and silver eyes aglow. For once, her life was going exactly the way she wanted. Her children were there, her event was going well, and she had a real Bard in scarlets playing for her personally.

Like a weight, he felt Stefen’s eyes on him, and he lifted his gaze and smiled briefly before looking away. Managing to keep his composure, that much had gotten easier, but his heart beat a little faster. _Damn it, I feel like such a lecher._

He had worried about whether he only enjoyed the young man’s company because he was so inappropriately attracted, but after talking it over with Yfandes, he thought it was more than that. Stef was charming, insightful, articulate, well-read, and responsible for Randi’s pain-free afternoons; all reasons to find his conversation pleasant, and perfectly innocuous in themselves.

_So behave yourself, old man._

_:You:_ Yfandes sent _:need to stop beating yourself over the head about this. You can’t control your reactions to people:_ A sly mental poke. _:And he is gorgeous:_

 _:’Fandes!:_ Cheeks heating, Vanyel turned and marched towards the sideboard to refill his wine. The room was already stuffy, and he reached to loosen the neck of his shirt; at this rate he would need to strip off his tunic soon.

Maybe he could go talk to Ariel for a while. She had been a trainee for three months now, and it had been a while since he had really caught up with her; he had missed the last two family dinners for meetings and Web-alarms, to Lady Treesa’s hurt and chagrin. _I’ll make it up to her somehow._

“Van, hey.” Lissa sidled up to him, her shoulder brushing his. “Hand me that.” She took the cup from his hand. “Having a good time?”

“It’s a bit loud.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the Bardic students’ babble.

“I think you haven’t had enough to drink.” Lissa took the decanter and filled his cup to the brim, then offered it back to him. “This sort of party is so much better that way. Get cracking at it.”

He was already a bit tipsy, but she was right – he would find the atmosphere a lot easier to enjoy that way. “Thanks, Liss.”

* * *

It had to be almost midnight, Stef thought vaguely, or maybe past. He hadn’t heard the bell ring, but he often didn’t when he was caught up in the music.

He had finally extracted himself from Lady Treesa’s grasp – to be fair, he had been mostly enjoying it. She was so easy to charm, it was awfully flattering, and the cheers and increasingly silly toasts that Medren kept proposing felt good as well. He was content to bask in the attention.

Finally, he was a full Bard. Sixteen wasn’t a record for the Collegium, but it was a record in Breda’s lifetime, and he could be content with that – even if, because of Politics, he was foregoing some of the usual privileges of rank. For example, keeping his shared room with Medren in the trainees’ wing rather than being given a suite of his own.

The stuffy highborn Bards on the Council could think that was a concession if they wanted. Stef didn’t mind it. It wasn’t like he had very many possessions anyway, and he liked Medren’s company. Living somewhere else, alone, would be weird.

Things were good. Better than good. Tonight was wonderful. Still, he had played for at least three candlemarks with barely a break, and it was definitely Medren’s turn now.

_Where’s Vanyel?_

Even in the depths of the music, he had been far too aware of Herald Vanyel’s eyes on him. Stef would really have liked to have spent more of the evening talking to him, but it was really too loud for conversation, and he knew he ought to be a gracious guest of honour for Treesa. Besides, it wasn’t a dignified look to be caught fawning over Herald-Mage Vanyel Demonsbane like a schoolboy. _He hates attention,_ Medren had said about a dozen times.

It did seem like Vanyel had made a point of speaking to him, in recent weeks, making himself late for another engagement once. It had been a bit overwhelming at first, but now, to his own surprise, Stef found him very easy to talk to. They had even discussed politics, a bit, and Vanyel had seemed genuinely impressed by some of the points Stef made. He longed for more of a chance to talk about his work with Katha – he was, once again, donning his disguise and creeping out a few times a week, keeping his ear to the ground and trying to stay ahead of the various organized crime-groups – but that wasn’t something he could speak about in public in the throne room.

Stef glanced around. He could grab anyone he wanted, really, since it was his party. He hadn’t had much of a chance to catch up with Jisa yet, but she seemed to be deep in conversation with Treven, and although he did want to make a good impression on Valdemar’s heir at some point, the set of their shoulders hinted that they didn’t really want to be interrupted by a third wheel.

Stef tugged at the neck of his scarlets. He hadn’t noticed while he was playing, but the crush of bodies had made it very warm inside. Some fresh air would be nice, he thought, wandering towards Lady Treesa’s solar. There was a balcony somewhere, with a nice view of the grounds; he could cool off for a bit, and come back in for more fun.

The door creaked open, letting in a gust of pleasantly icy air. Outside was like a painting: stars above, moonlight casting endless shadows over the rolling blanket of snow. _I could rhyme ‘snow’ with…doe? Floe?_

A pale ghostly figure stirred in the dark, moonlight glancing from silver hair. “Who’s there?” Vanyel’s voice.

“It’s me. Stef.” He pushed the door shut behind him and leaned on the waist-high wrought-iron parapet, feeling the chill of it seep through his tunic. “Needed some fresh air. You?”

“Same. Too loud in there.” Vanyel didn’t straighten up from the wall he was leaning against, and his voice was soft around the edges, not quite slurred. He must have had a fair bit to drink. “You made my mother so happy,” he added. “Thank you for that.”

“Um, you’re welcome. She’s very easy to please.” Stef remembered Vanyel’s words the day before. _I spent my childhood dreaming of being a Bard._ “Did you used to play for her?”

“I did.” He couldn’t see Vanyel’s face much in the dimness, but there was a smile in his voice, and wistfulness as well. “She has no taste, you know. Her favourite song is ‘My Lady’s Eyes’.”

“At least it’s got interesting fingerings,” Stef offered. “Even if the words are drivel.”

“True.” Vanyel did straighten up from the wall, this time, and joined Stef at the railing, weaving on the way there and catching himself. Maybe he was more drunk than Stef had realized, though still as eloquent as ever. “You know,” he said, “I think it broke her heart a little when I went away to Haven. I never went back to visit Forst Reach for, oh, seven years. Still feel a bit guilty about that. I’m not the doting son she wanted.” A pause. “She came all the way to the city to greet me – I remember she was there, when I came back with Savil. I’d forgotten that, gods.”

 _Got back from where,_ Stef wanted to ask, but he left it alone. It had to be close to Vanyel’s particular horrific history. _I don’t want to ruin his night._

“She seems like she’s got a good heart,” he said, breaking the silence.

Vanyel made a soft sound. “She does. She means well, and she tries. Not her fault that she’s completely airheaded.”

Stef laughed despite himself. “I wasn’t going to be the first to say that out loud.”

A pause. “Stef, even your laugh sounds like music. Did you know that?”

Stef froze. _Is he flirting with me?_ There really should have been some kind of witty repartee he could make from that, but all the words had suddenly fled his mind.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. _Think of something clever to say, damn it._ “Breda says I must’ve been breastfed music instead of milk. Which can’t be very nourishing for a baby, so maybe that’s why I’m so small.”

It was Vanyel’s turn to laugh. “That’s a picture,” he agreed. “I’ve talked about myself enough. What of you? When you were a child, did you dream of being a Bard?”

“I didn’t have the faintest idea what a Bard was.” Stef was surprised by how easy it felt to speak about. He never had tried to keep his past a secret, that was a surefire way to let people use it against him, but he hadn’t talked about it needlessly either. “I was an orphan. Grew up on the streets of Three Rivers. I couldn’t read or write. Didn’t even know I lived in a Kingdom.” Stef tried not to shiver. He was already feeling chilled, sweat cooling on his neck, but the last thing he wanted to do was cut this conversation short.

An indrawn breath. “Medren mentioned the orphan part. Not the rest. Can’t have been an easy childhood.”

“No. I was luckier than most, though.” _For one, I survived it._ “My Gift opened doors for me.”

“Mmm.” Vanyel moved a little closer to him. “I’m glad you made it out, Stef. Wish we could do the same for every orphaned child out there. Well, one step at a time.” A husky breath. “We’ll fix the world someday. Somehow.”

His voice was odd, heavy, and Stef couldn’t guess what he was thinking at all. All he knew was that Vanyel’s shoulder was almost touching his, close enough that he could feel his body heat. He was dizzy with it. Drunk, not on wine – he had assiduously asked for cider instead while he played – but on Vanyel’s sheer closeness. 

“Jisa said something like that once,” he heard himself say.

“She would.” Pride echoed in Vanyel’s voice. “Stef, I’m glad she has you as a friend.”

 _What’s happening?_ He could feel Vanyel’s eyes on him like a heated weight, even in the near-dark.

“Surprised you’re not angry that I got her in trouble,” he choked out.

“Angry? No.” Vanyel’s voice was gentle. “You saw a problem in the world, and you took your own initiative to fix it.” A sad chuckle. “Not in a very useful way, but you were trying. I can’t fault you for that.”

“Oh.” It shouldn’t have felt like a punch to the stomach, Stef thought, and yet he couldn’t seem to breathe.

Vanyel wasn’t precisely flirting with him, at least, not in the language Stef was familiar with. He was entirely earnest – and Stef wasn’t blind, or stupid, he knew how to read people. _He wants me. Just as badly as I want him._

Suddenly, the cold night air was doing absolutely nothing about the heat surging in his belly.

“Van?” he said, turning.

“Wha–”

Stef kissed him. It didn’t, actually, feel like there had been a decision – it was just happening, an implacable tide carrying both of them with it, Van froze for a moment, stiff in his arms, and then his wind-chilled lips parted.

 _This isn’t particularly safe._ Stef realized he was shoving Vanyel up against the parapet, which was only waist-high, and it was quite a long drop on the other side. Twining his hands around Vanyel’s neck, he spun him around, away from the railing, misjudging the momentum and and practically slamming him into the stone wall. _Oh gods I don’t know what’s happening anymore._ Stef’s head was whirling just from the smell of Vanyel’s hair, the taste of his mouth, the feel of his slim compact body pressed against the cold stone–

It seemed to last for centuries, but in actual fact was probably about ten seconds. Stef’s hand was reaching under Vanyel’s shirt without his mind having much say in the process – and Vanyel’s fingers rose and trapped his wrist, as he turned his head to the side, breaking the kiss.

Stef pulled back slightly, his other hand still twisted into Vanyel’s hair.

“Stop.” Vanyel’s voice was a taut whisper. “Stef, please stop.” His eyes were dazed, pupils dilated until only a thin ring of silver caught the moonlight, hair in disarray across his face.

Stef stepped back, releasing him, and Vanyel staggered to the railing and caught himself, breathing in deep gulps.

There was a cold sinking feeling in Stef’s stomach. “Van, are you–”

“Stef, I’m sorry.” Vanyel brought a hand to his forehead. “Shouldn’t have – too much to drink – got carried away–”

 _I’m pretty sure you’re not the one who got carried away._ And if he dawdled here any longer, Stef wasn’t sure he could stay in control of himself.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said, desperately, and fled.

* * *

“Water. Drink.” Lissa pushed the cup into his hands. There were two of her, not quite in line. Her hand brushed the hair back from his forehead. “Hey, it’s all right. You just had a bit too much wine. Was it Mother’s fault?”

“Probably.” Whatever the cause, he had failed badly at pacing himself. He had felt obliged to join Medren on several toasts in quick succession, with brandy-spirits passed out in tiny cups, and before that he hadn’t really been keeping track of how many times Lady Treesa had refilled his wine-cup. The room had been so stuffy, he had been grateful for a chilled drink in his hand, and he had to admit he had been distracted.

Too busy staring at a too-attractive Bard who was much too young for him to have those kinds of thoughts about. _What’s wrong with me?_

 _:Chosen, it’s all right:_ Yfandes’ mindvoice wavered in and out. _:You didn’t do anything improper. He’s the one who threw himself at you:_ A note of tartness.

 _:I let him:_ He could barely manage Mindspeech.

He had been sitting down in the corner, listening to Ariel talk about riding lessons – he thought, it was a bit hazy – when all the brandy had caught up with him, hard. He had excused himself to the balcony, hoping the cold night air would clear his head.

And he really had been pleased to see Stef, even if he was trying to hide how embarrassingly drunk he was; he definitely couldn’t have walked in a straight line, but he could speak coherently enough, though he must have been rambling a bit.

Until the part that had caught him completely off guard. _I must have done something to ask for it._ He had replayed some of their conversation in his head, and it probably had sounded like he was flirting. Complimenting Stef on his laugh… _What was I thinking?_

And then the kiss had happened, and he hadn’t stopped it. Hadn’t done anything about it. Gods, his lips still tingled remembering it, and the back of his neck where Stef had gripped, pulling his hair in the process, it had hurt but in a wonderful way. Even the sore spot on the back of his head from being basically tossed into the wall – he could have relived that moment forever.

It had taken aeons, and the most self-control he had ever wielded, to break away from it. _I never wanted it to end._

He was so disgusting.

 _:Chosen, stop it:_ Like a slap to the face, ringing silver in his mind. _:You find him attractive. There isn’t actually anything wrong with that:_

_:He’s a child!:_

_:No, he isn’t. Chosen, he’s a young man – a very young man, but still an adult for all intents and purposes. He’s old enough to fight in the Guard. Older than you were, when you met ‘Lendel:_

_:It seems very relevant that ‘Lendel wasn’t a creepy old man twice my age:_

A disgusted mental snort. _:Chosen, I swear, if you think of yourself as a dirty old man one more time, I will throw you into the river:_ A pause. _:You were right to stop him. It was inappropriate of to start anything, and there is a power differential that makes it very fraught. But there’s nothing unhealthy about seeing him that way. Your mother was practically drooling over him, didn’t you notice?:_

 _:’Fandes! Ew!:_ That mental image wasn’t helping at all.

“Van!” Lissa slapped his cheek, and he realized he had been drifting to one side. “Don’t go to sleep on me yet. Water first.” She rubbed the back of his neck, gently. “Care to tell me what happened in there, earlier? You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

Vanyel wasn’t sure of the sequence of events. He must have said something, he didn’t remember what, and then Stef hadn’t been there anymore, and he had stayed out on the balcony, shivering, not wanting to risk going inside – he was afraid that what had happened would somehow be obvious on his face, and besides, he still couldn’t walk straight. Lissa had come looking for him a few minutes later, and he had latched onto her with relief. _Get me out of here, please._ She had obligingly rescued him and walked him back to his room.

Vanyel shook his head. He was still trembling, but he thought it was mostly from the cold outside.

 _What was I thinking?_ He should have seen Stef’s intentions coming the moment he stepped out onto the balcony. It wouldn’t be the first time some youngster bursting with hero-worship had tried their hand at seducing him, but it hadn’t happened in a long time – not since the before trial for Sunhame – and it had caught him entirely off guard.

Lissa’s eyebrows rose, dubious, but she didn’t press. “Suit yourself.” Her hand rose to rub his back. “Hey, it’s all right. Focus on your feet, that helps.”

To his surprise, it did. He remembered to center and ground, and the spinning slowed.

“Made a mistake,” he mumbled.

“What do you mean?”

Vanyel averted his eyes, shamefaced. “Kissed Stef.”

To his surprise and chagrin, Lissa burst out laughing. “That’s what’s got a bee in your bonnet, Van? First off, I’d wager a ten-to-one odds that it was his doing and not yours. I’ve seen him at the goddamned shaych tavern, I know what he’s like.”

“What? You have?” Vanyel stared blankly at her. “When?”

“Last year, a couple times. I go there when I feel like a change of scene, even when you’re not around.” A grin. “I don’t really lean that way, but you know, sometimes it’s a nice to have some tough lady in leathers flirt with me. Flattering.”

He could boggle over that bizarre tidbit later. “Should’ve stopped him,” he muttered.

“Seems to me that you _did_ stop him, or else you wouldn’t be here at all, you’d be, I don’t know, going at it like rabbits in one of those grottoes by the river–”

Vanyel choked on a mouthful of water. “Lissa, stop!” he spluttered. “Not. Helping.”

She slapped him on the back. “All right, so he really should have asked first and given you a chance to say no gracefully, rather than making you peel him off your face. Want me to go smack some sense into him?”

“No!” The word came out as a yelp. “I should apologize.” In the morning, when he was sober and could think straight again.

* * *

Medren pushed Stef through the door and bolted it behind them. “All right. Spill. What in all hells just happened to you?”

He had been in the middle of song for Lady Treesa when Stef had staggered in, white-faced and shivering, and grabbed him by the arm. _Need to leave, please._ Medren had been irritated, but he had politely bid goodnight to Lady Treesa, excused the two of them, and hustled Stef out the door inside a couple of minutes, assuming his friend had had too much to drink and was about to be ill.

That wasn’t the case, though. Stef seemed completely sober. He paced to window, jerked it open a crack, and spun on his heels, yanking at his hair with both hands. Looking utterly miserable. “I screwed up.”

“What do you mean?”

Stef turned, abruptly, and sat down on the side of his bed, dropping his head into his hands. “Thought he wanted it. No, he _did_ want it. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Medren let out his breath through his nose, controlled. “Stef. Please start at the beginning. Who, where, what?”

“Herald Vanyel. On the balcony.” Stef’s voice was muffled through his hands. “I…kissed him. Could tell he wanted it. But he pushed me off. Asked me to stop. And _apologized.”_ Stef glowered at Medren through splayed fingers. “What he thought he’d got to apologize for, I don’t know. I’m offended.”

Medren realized that his jaw was hanging open, and closed it with a click. For a long time, he couldn’t find any words at all.

“For the love of all the gods, Stef.” He sat down heavily next to his roommate. “What were you thinking?”

Stef’s eyes took on a dreamy look. “That he was gorgeous?”

“No, I don’t mean that. What had you assuming he wanted you to kiss him?”

“He was flirting. Said my laugh had music in it, his voice was all husky-like…” He seemed to curl deeper into the bed. “He was pretty drunk.”

“Right.” Medren dragged a hand over his face. “So he was in an impaired state, and you misread his signals. Happens to the best of us. And he shooed you off as gracefully as he could.”

Stef gave him a squint-eyed glare that could have burned a hole in plaster. “I’m not blind. I didn’t misread him.”

Medren sighed heavily. “Fine, so he finds you attractive. And he was relaxed and having a good time for once. That doesn’t mean he would think it was at all acceptable to take it further with you, because in case you’ve forgotten, you’re sixteen. And my Uncle Van takes ethics very seriously. He would feel terrible for taking advantage of you.”

“I’m a full Bard now,” Stef said, chin jutting stubbornly. “Not a child. And he wasn’t taking advantage of me.”

“No. Seems like it was the other way round, actually.” Medren closed his eyes, counting to ten, until he could manage to speak calmly again. “Stef. It sounds to me that what happened is you caught him when his defences were down, and you completely overwhelmed him before he had a chance to object. Which is why it’s a good idea to ask instead of flinging yourself at someone.” He scowled. “You know, if you’d done that to a _girl_ in a vulnerable position – well, you wouldn’t be expelled for it, but remember Nattan got a whole session in detention for getting handsy with Chylla?”

Stef dropped his hands, eyes wide and startled. “What? But that’s totally different. He’s the most powerful mage ever.”

Medren tried not to groan. “Yes, he could have tossed you off the balcony with a moment’s thought. Maybe something you should have considered, beforehand – oh, stop looking at me like that. You weren’t actually in any danger, Van would never harm you. You just put him in a very awkward situation, where something was happening to him that he didn’t want–”

“He _did_ want it, I could _tell–”_

Medren slammed his fist down on the bed. “Stef. Stop it. You know he didn’t, because he asked you to stop.” He hesitated. “You did stop when he asked, right?”

Stef nodded.

“And apologized?”

Another reluctant nod.

“And then what?”

Stef’s head retreated between his shoulders, turtle-like. “Ran away.”

Taut with nerves, Medren almost laughed, which would have been dreadful. “Because you’re not used to being rejected and you were thoroughly humiliated. I see.” It wasn’t actually funny at all. “Well, it’s not the worst thing – I’m sure what he most wanted in that moment was some space to breathe, and you gave him that.” He closed his eyes, searching for the right words. “But you _did_ screw up. That was an unethical thing to do.”

Naked, baffled eyes. “What’s ethics got to do with it?”

“Oh. Stef. Gods.” Medren pressed his palm to his forehead. “How about this. Get some rest, and tomorrow morning we’ll talk it over, and then we’ll go find him and you can apologize and sort it out.”

Stef’s chin sank even deeper against his chest, but he didn’t object.

Medren straightened up. “Go to sleep, Stef.”

* * *

_I really am an idiot sometimes._

Vanyel’s temples ached. Dunking his head in cold water had helped a little, and a cup of chava, sweetened and not too strong, had cleared some of the cobwebs, but it hadn’t done his uneasy guts any good. He had made up his morning herbs and was struggling to drink the brew, but even with the aid of a bit of self-Healing, he was still quite nauseated.

He had begged off from his usual practice-session with Savil. In a candlemark or two, he might feel well enough to face the world, but not yet. For now, he was halfheartedly rereading some notes on his last conversation with Leareth, but the words and numbers were going straight through his mind without finding purchase.

Incredible, really, that there was an immortal mage in the north working to create a god through blood-sacrifice, and his mind was more caught up by a moderately awkward thing that had happened at a party. _Just goes to show that human beings really are insane._

His face was still heating every time he thought about the night before, and it wasn’t just embarrassment. He remembered the touch of Stef’s hand on his bare skin, reaching under his shirt, nails digging in, and – _no, we are done thinking about that now._

It could have been worse, he reminded himself. Mother could have chosen that moment to take a stroll.

 _:’Fandes:_ he reached out, apropos of nothing.

 _:Finish your medicine, love:_ A gentle prod. _:And then come out? It’s a beautiful day:_

It was – a sliver of brilliant blue sky showed between his curtains. Vanyel tried to stand up without moving his head too much, and drained the rest of the cup, grimacing. _:Just let me get dressed properly:_ He had woken up still wearing his trews from the night before, with his tunic and shirt strewn on the floor; he didn’t even remember Lissa leaving.

 _Gods, what a disaster._ At least the worst of it had happened in private, but he was sure someone must have seen him staggering out on Lissa’s arm. He was a little surprised not to have received a concerned note from Mother.

 _:On reflection:_ Yfandes sent, _:maybe wait:_

 _:What?:_ He froze halfway through lacing a clean tunic.

 _:Seems someone’s come to apologize:_ The overtones in her mindvoice told him exactly who.

 _:Oh, no. Is it too late to escape out the window?:_ He was so incredibly not ready for that conversation.

 _:Your nephew is chaperoning him:_ Yfandes was definitely amused. _:So you don’t need to worry about protecting your virtue:_ A pause. _:I mean, maybe that’s a downside:_

 _:’Fandes, please stop teasing me:_ She was as bad as Lissa.

The only response was her laughter in his head.

Vanyel had finished dressing and combing his hair by the time the knock arrived. He took a few slow breaths, and then made his stately, dignified way to the door and unbolted it.

“Yes?”

Stef, eyes boring into the floor, seemed to be trying to disappear into his cloak. Medren was holding him firmly by the shoulder. “Uncle Van, er, can we come in for a bit?”

“Of course.” He stepped back. “Should I make tea?”

“No, we won’t be long.” Medren prodded Stef over to the stool and pushing him down onto it, and then hovered behind him. “Stef just has something to say to you.”

Vanyel kept his eyes determinedly to one side, darting into the bedroom to retrieve his wicker chair. There was probably something he ought to be saying, but the sudden onslaught of nerves, on an already queasy stomach, was making him badly want to keep his mouth shut. He sat down heavily.

Medren took the chair from Vanyel’s desk, and gave Stef a meaningful look.

Stef twitched. “Herald Vanyel, I acted inappropriately and I apologize,” he said stiffly. “I wasn’t thinking. I knew you’d been drinking and I took advantage of your state, disrespected your limits – I treated you like a thing instead of a person, to get what I wanted.” He bowed his head. “Which is kind of an awful thing to do to someone, and it must’ve been unpleasant for you. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t feel bad about it, it’s not anything you did, it’s my fault for assuming.”

 _That was not what I was expecting._ Vanyel leaned back, not sure if the feeling bubbling in his chest was amusement or something else. “Stef, how much of that did Medren coach you to say?”

Stef’s cheeks turned a deeper pink. Vanyel’s Projective Empathy was picking up on a tide of humiliation, and under it, hurt.

“Actually, most of that was his words,” Medren jumped in. “I helped him talk through what went wrong, is all.”

“Right.” Vanyel took a deep breath. _:’Fandes, help:_

She surged into his mind. _:Hmm. He does feel rejected, which is never a nice feeling. You certainly don’t owe it to him, but it might soften the blow a bit if you tell him why. Ergo, it’s not because you find him unattractive:_

It hadn’t even occurred to Vanyel that Stef might feel that way.

“Stef,” he said. “I should apologize as well. I was…impaired, and sending mixed signals.” _You don’t know how much I wanted it._ “You’re half my age. You have to understand why my, er, doing anything with you would be an unacceptable abuse of my position. I should have stopped you sooner – but it’s _not_ because there’s anything wrong with you, I swear.”

Stef nodded, biting his lip.

Vanyel folded his hands over his knees. “I do enjoy your company, Stef, and I respect you a great deal. Your talent, your intelligence, your ambition – I could go on all day. I do want you in my life, all right? Just…not in a romantic way.” He tried his best to smile. “Can we be friends?”

Stef was still coiled in the chair, but something brightened in his face. He set his shoulders, lifted his chin. “Of course.”

“Uncle Van?” Medren’s voice was almost tentative. “Listen… It doesn’t condone it, at all, but Stef hasn’t many good role models for this sort of thing–”

“Medren!”

“What? It’s true.” Medren’s hands twisted together in his lap. “Stef, the people you sleep with _do_ treat you like a thing, and you think that’s normal! I mean, name someone you know who actually sets a good example that you’re trying to follow.”

Stef rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I’m trying to get married. Stop being a mother-hen, Medren.”

Vanyel glanced from one to the other. _This is so awkward._ “Medren, I’m really not the best person to ask for relationship advice–”

“You’re good at giving people any kind of advice.” His nephew’s voice was almost plaintive. “When it comes to behaving ethically.” He cast a glance over at his roommate. “Stef, I can’t believe the way you’re approaching it right now is actually how you’d be happiest, and I’m scared that one of these days you’re going to get hurt. Or hurt someone else.”

Stef folded his arms. “Medren, I know what I’m doing. I’m not some helpless innocent.”

“Fine!” Medren flung both hands in the air. “Be that way. It’s your life. Just, for once you’ve got a friend who’s shaych too, who might actually get what it’s like for you, and who has more life experience. I thought that might be good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, uh, hope everyone enjoys the extent of SHEER DRAMA in this chapter.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the interested, this amaaaaaazing crackfic showed up in my inbox today: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24300682/chapters/58578634

_Snow-laden wind hissed against an icy barrier–_

_“Sorry, could you repeat that?” Vanyel said._

(It was scarcely a month to Midwinter, and they were still talking mostly in the abstract, but at least moving closer to proposing solutions. Vanyel was trying his best to be patient, like Randi was being with him.)

_“Perhaps I will back up, and start with an example.” Leareth raised his hand again, and glowing writing appeared on the wall. “I am thinking of a simple rule that generates a set of numbers – I will not tell you, but I will give you some examples. Three is included, four is not. Five is included. Thirteen is included, fourteen is not. Nineteen is included. Twenty-eight is not. Now, would you care to guess at the rule?”_

_Vanyel closed his eyes. “Well, the obvious answer is ‘odd numbers’, but I’m assuming you want the non-obvious answer. I… Oh! Prime numbers fits as well. I can’t distinguish those without asking for more examples.”_

_A slight nod. “Those are both simple rules. If we say odd numbers – does minus one fit?”_

_“…Yes?”_

_“And ten to the hundredth power, plus one?”_

_Vanyel grimaced. “…I think so?”_

_“Yes. However, do you see the problem here?”_

(Not immediately – it was too abstract, just numbers unconnected to anything – but he was getting used to following Leareth’s style of reasoning, and he could almost feel his mind grasping for the shape of an answer, vague and unformed on the edge of his awareness.)

_“Those are both weird numbers, in a way,” he said finally. “I mean, not the sort of thing a human six-year-old would come up with. They’re not typical.”_

_Leareth waited, his face impassive._

_“Right.” Vanyel lifted both hands to his temples. “And…that could be a problem. Not for this specific case, but for a being trying to learn another sort of rule, based on examples, in an area where it’s not as easy for us to think of the edge cases ahead of time. And it might lead to the issue where if we’ve made a goal slightly sloppy and underspecified, the ‘best’ way to achieve it might be like ten to the hundredth power plus one – bizarre and extreme and not the thing we actually wanted at all.” He paused. “I think I follow that. But I’m not sure what it has to do with conservative planning.”_

_“Then I will tell you.” Leareth’s black eyes rested on him, unperturbed. “A being that learns conservatively, given those examples, would generate a much more constrained rule, such as ‘all odd numbers between three and nineteen’. Since the initial set contains no numbers outside those bounds, it is safer to exclude them. In practice, this will cause the infant god to strongly disprefer extreme outcomes, even if they technically satisfy the criteria of what it values; a being that plans conservatively will avoid large interventions. Given the goal of, perhaps, increasing happiness, it will lean toward methods that are similar to the existing ones. It would not, say, invent a new drug to cause perfect happiness in all humans, since that is a new and unusual type of solution, and it would almost certainly not try to turn all of the matter and energy in the world into the smallest human minds it can create, experiencing incessant bliss.” A pause. “This would also apply to a being’s plans for modifying itself. It would be inclined to play this extremely safe. We can speak more later of the difficulties this presents, but it has its benefits.”_

_Vanyel nodded. “I…think I see. Still doesn’t seem perfectly safe, but it does seem to rule out some of the worst dangers.”_

_“Yes.” Leareth’s face was still, but Vanyel thought there was a flicker of approval in his eyes. “It is not sufficient, but it is a step. However, I am leery of baking it in too deeply. Do you see why?”_

_Vanyel closed his eyes. “I think…maybe…because it’s basically forcing the godlet to prefer the status quo? And fear change?”_

_“Yes. This is one of the problems with the existing gods, that we would like to rectify.” Leareth set his hands down in his lap, settling back into stillness. “We have perhaps an interesting example, in your artifact Need. I suspect that she is the result of a process that was incredibly conservative – she is immortal, but no more powerful or intelligent than she was as a mortal, and inflexible in terms of achieving her core goal, that of increasing the wellbeing of women.”_

_“Right,” Vanyel said, neutrally._

(He hadn’t mentioned Need’s strange awakening, and didn’t intend to. Need was almost nothing like the kind of being Leareth wanted to create – and it might be useful, to have that resource hidden in reserve.)

_“I suspect there are other factors.” Leareth looked past him, at the wall. “As I have said before, a human spirit does not make up a complete mind, and the sword Need has tied that to a blade – not a substrate that can hold much complexity. I suspect that she makes use of the mind-substrate of her bearers, but this does mean that her goal-structure cannot hold as much nuance, and will be rather black-and-white.”_

_Vanyel nodded without speaking._

(It fit. Need had struggled with tradeoffs where, in fact, a woman was harming a man. She didn’t quite share Vanyel’s values, and trying to have a conversation with her about it hadn’t gone anywhere useful. Need had little interest at all in talking abstractly about ethics – she was a woman of action, not philosophy.)

_“Need is an interesting proof-of-concept in other ways,” Leareth said. “As I have mentioned before, one of the methods of seeding a god-kernel would be to start with the template of a human mind.”_

_Vanyel raised his eyebrows. “Your mind?”_

_A slight dip of Leareth’s chin. “I would prefer not. The person who chose to become such a template would, very soon, cease to be anything like human. Transcendence has a great deal in common with death. And, for practical purposes, I would like that I could supervise the young god personally as it grows.” He shook his head. “It is perhaps not necessary that a specific human sacrifice themselves in this way – if we understand well enough what sort of mind we wish to create, we might build one anew. And, in any case, humanlike architecture is not the only approach. It is simply one I am considering.”_

(Leareth had been very upfront about the fact that his plan was neither set in stone, nor fully fleshed out. There were areas that had been difficult for him to study in advance, and places where more than one path was an option. He generally had a thorough and careful explanation of why it was safe to start, and iron out the details midway through, confident that he could halt the process at any moment if necessary.)

_“The difficulty,” Leareth said, carefully, “is that we do in fact wish this god to find novel and creative solutions to the world’s problems, since it is very obvious that the existing options are insufficient. It would be foolish to hamstring our god such that it could conceive of nothing that we could not think of ourselves.”_

_Vanyel tried to think. “That still seems pretty useful, actually. If it’s just powerful enough to implement plans that we could think of, but can’t bring to bear ourselves. I don’t know, making food and shelter and medicine for everyone in the world doesn’t seem that complicated, it’s just hard to actually do.”_

_Leareth’s black eyes stared past him. His voice was distant. “Perhaps, yet we would be giving up the possibility of so, so much more.”_

* * *

It wasn’t just the Death Bell that dragged him awake; it was the crushing pain in Vanyel’s chest, like a weight, driving out his breath.

 _:Chosen!:_ Yfandes was reaching for him; he could feel that she was still groggy, shaken out of a sound sleep like he had been, but entirely focused on him. _:Chosen, you’re all right. Just breathe. Center and ground:_

He pushed air in and out between gritted teeth, and slowly the agony receded to an ache, his body remembering that he wasn’t Herald-Mage Etran, twenty-two years old and riding circuit to the northwest.

He sat up, carefully, and waited for the whirling black spirals in his vision to clear.

 _:Etran:_ he sent. _:Do we know what happened?:_

 _:Waiting for the relay:_ Muted grief in her mindvoice. _:It was sudden. I felt his Ana torn out of the Web with him:_

Companions usually had time to make their goodbyes to the rest of the herd, if their Heralds died of natural causes, but it wasn’t uncommon for the shock of a violent death to carry them along, even if they hadn’t been hit at the same time as their Herald,

…It was soaking in, now, the cobwebs clearing from his mind. He could almost feel the Death Bell still echoing in his bones. Just like that, another gone.

There were exactly six Herald-Mages left in the Kingdom.

 _:Goddammit!:_ he sent, giving in to the frustration and slamming his fists down on the tangled bedspread. _:Why now?:_

Everything had been going so well. Or, no, not really – Randi was slowly deteriorating, and they weren’t much closer to solving the most pressing problem – but in the near-term, things had felt almost bizarrely smooth. Having Stefen back, and assigned full-time to Randi rather than juggling lessons, made such an incredible difference.

The quiet voice in the back of his mind rose. _Admit it, you’re glad he’s here for your own reasons_.

And what of it? He had acted with perfect propriety around Stef ever since that night, though it had taken a few weeks before he trusted his – and Stef’s – self-control enough for them to be alone together. It was silly to force Medren to chaperone all the time, though, given that he still had classes. _We can be adults about it, even if he is young. We can behave ourselves._

And if he sometimes had dreams that weren’t exactly appropriate, well, Yfandes kept pointing out that he couldn’t control what he dreamed about, and they were a lot more pleasant than the usual nightmare-repertoire.

He had genuinely tried to fulfill Medren’s request, and give Stef some kind of advice on approaching healthy relationships – with other people, closer to his age – but it was such an unbearably awkward topic, and he mostly avoided it. There were so many other subjects that were reliably enjoyable and fascinating.

Sometimes he found himself wishing he could bring Stef in on the dreams with Leareth. He was so quick, and he had his own sideways perspective on the world, like seeing into the same house through a different window. Stef didn’t just imitate, or follow the conventional path because it was the done thing – he tried to figure out the rules of the game, whatever it was, and win. As hard as he could. Someone else might have called it manipulative, but Vanyel couldn’t help but respect the obvious mastery at work.

There was no real case he could make to Randi for it, though. The King didn’t trust Stef’s judgement or discretion, reasonably so given the events of previous years. Vanyel happened to think that Stef had grown up enough in the last eighteen months, but he also had a predictable source of bias.

 _:Van, ke’chara?:_ Savil’s mindvoice was distant through his shields. _:Did you feel that?:_

 _:I did:_ He poured his own energy in, stabilizing the connection.

_:Are you all right?:_

_:Fine now. Helps that he was far away:_ The pain in his chest was almost gone. _:Did we get word?:_

_:Colddrake. Must’ve come out of the Pelagirs:_

_:Gods:_ Vanyel had encountered the cold-adapted creatures, with their hypnotic gaze, during his time helping out as a scout for k’Treva. He never had much trouble, but Etran, barely Master-level, would have been far outmatched.

 _:He drove it off a village:_ Savil sent. _:Saved two hundred people:_

–Was that worth it? Gods, he hated himself for even asking the question, but it was a lot more complicated that just trading one life for many more. Etran had been one of only seven mages. Without him, the entire western border – including Forst Reach, Vanyel’s once-home – was unguarded save for the Web.

And a dozen Heralds on circuit, he reminded himself. Mages weren’t everything.

 _:What do we need to do now?:_ he sent.

 _:I’m headed for the Web-room:_ A pause. _:Join me if you’re up for it, but if not that’s fine. I can handle it with Kilchas and Sandra:_

He started to form the words that of course he would come, then pulled back. _:’Fandes?:_

 _:They don’t need you, love:_ She sent a wash of reassurance. _:It’s more important that you get a good night’s sleep. There will be a lot to deal with tomorrow:_

It wasn’t comfortable, but she was right. _:Thank you, aunt:_ he sent. _:I think I’d better sit this one out:_

 _:Of course, ke’chara:_ He felt her affection in the overtones. _:Sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow:_

* * *

Shavri stood with her hand on Randi’s shoulders, pushing her own energy through their lifebond, wishing beyond anything that they dared bring Stef into this meeting. Randi’s face was drawn and grey, and she was tired as well; she didn’t have Need today, the blade was out with one of Lissa’s women.

Keiran and Joshel filed into the room together, glancing around before taking seats by the window. Tantras followed a moment later, pulling the door shut in his wake. They were in the big sitting-room in Randi’s suite, rearranged for the meeting.

Randi sat in a well-padded chair, his legs supported. He could still walk, and was determined to move around the suite on his own feet, but he had finally given in to the inevitable and accepted that he could no longer manage the trek to the Council-room and the main wing of meeting-rooms, much less anything that involved going outside. The Healers and artificers had worked together, with some unexpected input from Vanyel, and produced a wooden chair on two large wheels. Randi could move it himself if he wanted, by turning the wheels with his hands, but his arms and shoulders were weakening as well and it was easier for Shavri or someone else to push him. He minded it a lot less than being literally carried.

“That’s everyone,” Tran said. “Let’s get started.” Despite Dara having officially replaced him as King’s Own, the two of them traded back and forth on leading meetings. “We have to figure out what to do about the fact that we have three borders to guard, and two mages to do it. Can we take a minute to think, separately, and then propose ideas?” _:Shavri, why is Van here?:_

 _:Because Randi invited him?:_ Shavri shot back, with irritation, though she tried to keep it off her face. _:His expertise is relevant:_

_:This is about security in the north. One of the meetings we don’t invite him to:_

Shavri rolled her eyes. Tran and Vanyel were actually getting along relatively well, in recent months – they were civil to one another, met one-on-one regularly to discuss various issues, and sparred together a few times a week. And Tran still refused to budge on a policy they had hastily come up with almost two years ago – gods, could it really have been that long?

 _:Maybe we do need his ideas:_ Tran sent. _:I just don’t like that Randi did it unilaterally:_

 _:I’m sorry we didn’t run it by you:_ Randi had been distracted, understandably, and she had forgotten to track that concern. _:He does have the right to make that decision, though:_ Wasn’t that part of what being King meant?

She wasn’t sure it had been the right thing to say; something tightened in the overtones. _:Fine. I want to talk about this later:_

 _:Later:_ she agreed. Focus on the matter at hand. _What do we do about this?_ It really, really wasn’t the problem she wanted to be solving, and she felt a pang of longing for the House of Healing. They still called on her for emergencies, sometimes, but she never liked to leave Randi for long.

Dara was the first to speak. “I mean, we don’t have to guard the portion with Iftel, surely. And we’re at peace with Hardorn. Half the western border ends on a lake, or Rethwellan, who we’re at peace with as well. So it doesn’t seem like it’s really three borders – it’s mostly the north and the northwest, where the Pelagirs start. Right?”

Keiran scowled. “Those are the riskiest areas, sure, but I’d rather not leave the Hardornen border unguarded. They’ve got a serious bandit problem right now, King Festil doesn’t have the forces to clamp down. And Lake Evendim has pirates. They mostly bother the Lake-folk, not anyone inland, but given that they are citizens of Valdemar now…”

Savil jumped in. “I’m not sure either of those call for mages, though. I know King Festil has a real problem with rogue hedge-wizards, but they can’t realistically cross our border; that’s exactly what the vrondi are for. If one of them braves it anyway, we’ll get an alarm soon enough, and one of us can dissuade them from a distance.” She stroked the tip of her nose. “That leaves un-Gifted bandits and pirates. Dangerous to unarmed villagers, but hardly a case where only a Herald-Mage can intervene. In fact, I’d take a strong Fetcher teamed with a Farseer or Mindspeaker any day, over someone like poor Etran.”

“Can I say something?” Vanyel lifted his hand. “This might sound insane, but actually, I think we should pull _all_ the Herald-Mages off our Borders.”

Dead silence.

“You’re right, it does sound insane,” Keiran said flatly. “Why?”

“Because having one Master-level mage trying to cover two or three hundred miles was stupid to begin with. It’s like trying to hold back a flood with a child’s bucket. They’re exposed, and they end up having to work through the Web and cast at a distance most of the time anyway, since it’d be pure coincidence for all the problems to happen in whatever five-mile stretch they happen to be riding on a given day.”

Vanyel sighed. “It does buy us something, having feet on the ground out there – they’ll notice some problems a lot sooner than the Web would tell us – but I don’t think it’s worth the risk we’re putting on them. And Savil is right. We have a lot of experienced Heralds out there with very strong Gifts. They can handle most of the work that Nani and Tamara have actually been doing, and if it’s really and truly an emergency, we can Gate someone out from Haven.”

The silence stretched on, but thoughtful this time.

 _Why did I never think of that?_ All the points he had made were good ones, and yet it would never have occurred to her that giving up on having mages on their borders at all was an option.

“I’ve done some research in the Archives, and some maths,” Vanyel went on. “Historically, a Herald on circuit, in peacetime, has about a one-in-a-hundred chance of dying in a given year. Roll that dice over and over, year after year, and most of us don’t live long enough to die in our beds. Border circuits are closer to one in fifty, and mages on border circuits, one in twenty. Those aren’t terrible odds for any given year, but we’ll lose the both of them eventually if they stay out there. Given our numbers, I don’t think we can risk that.”

Of course he had done maths with it. Shavri would have laughed, except that it wasn’t funny at all.

“It may not be feasible, politically,” Keiran started. “The number of complaints we’re already getting from border holdings, that they’ve been asking for Herald-Mages and we’re sending them regular Heralds…”

“Then that’s a problem as well.” Vanyel glanced over at Savil, his expression flattening for a second or two.

She leaned in. “Right. It’s the same thing – we’ve gotten into the habit of counting on mages, even when it’s not really necessary. Of course that’s trickled down to the landholders and common folk. That has to change, soon. It’s not sustainable, and there’s no reason for it. Like I said, we have some incredible people out on circuit. More strong Mindspeakers than we’ve ever had before, and plenty of other Gifts to go around. And I hope to all the gods we can solve whatever’s gone wrong with mage-potential and our trainees, but if we don’t… Even setting aside this war we’re likely to face, none of us are going to live forever.”

Stunned silence.

“You think,” Keiran said slowly, “that we might end up without mages entirely.”

Savil clasped her hands in front of her. “Without Herald-Mages. We’ve got Need, that’s something like having a mage, and we’ve got the crew from Baires. We can draw on Karis’ priesthood if we really must, and it’s possible we could send people out and entice some newly-trained mages from somewhere like Rethwellan to relocate here, though they might frown on us for poaching their talent. But if we’re to do that, we need to plan, which requires us admitting to the problem.”

Shavri closed her eyes. She had imagined the scenario where Valdemar didn’t make it through next decade – where none of them survived – but somehow, imagining the world where the Kingdom went on, but without any Herald-Mages ever again, hurt even more. There was a ringing sort of permanence to it.

Randi lifted his hand. “I don’t think that’s a decision we can make now,” he said quietly. “Let’s talk about how to redeploy some of our other Heralds to better cover the west, and…we’ll think about it.”

* * *

Medren yawned, straightening up from his desk. “You’re back late. I thought the audience was over at sunset.”

Stef yanked the door shut behind him and threw his cloak on the floor.

“That’s my side of the line,” Medren said quickly.

“Oh, come on, we aren’t twelve anymore.” Stef did scrape the offending item over with his foot, though, before stomping to his bed and flinging himself down.

“Someone’s in a huff.” Medren set down his pen, pushed his chair back, and laced his fingers around the back of his head. “What’s eating you, Stef?”

A grumbled answer, muffled by the fact that Stef’s face was pressed into the covers.

“That,” Medren said, “sounded awfully like ‘Vanyel’. I gather you ‘accidentally’ spent the whole evening talking again?” He smiled slyly. “At least, I assume it was only talking.”

Stef flopped over. “Medren, quit teasing me. Damn it! He’s so…interesting…”

“And dreamy, don’t forget that part.”

“Shut it, Medren.” Stef tugged at his hair. “I can’t stop thinking about him! It’s not fair.”

“Sounds like someone needs to go blow off some steam at the tavern tonight.” Medren glanced over at the time-candle. “It’s not too late.”

“It won’t help! That’s the trouble. I don’t _want_ anyone else!” Stef flung his arms back over his head. “I know, I know. I’m just obsessed with what I can’t have. You don’t need to keep teasing me about it.”

“So tragic.” Medren managed to keep the smile off his lips. “Stef, seriously, you’re being incredibly dramatic. This isn’t like you.”

“I know! It’s awful. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Stef sat up, abruptly, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, dropping his head into his hands. He kicked his heels against the bed. “Damn it, Medren, what am I supposed to do?”

Medren sighed, stood up, and went over to the bed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I would tell you to stop spending time with him and torturing yourself like this, just…Stef, he lights up around you. I don’t know how or why or what you’re doing right but you make him happy. That means a lot.”

Stef lifted plaintive eyes to him, candlelight glancing from the angular planes of his face. “Do I really?”

“Really.” Medren perched on the side of the bed, and put his arm around his roommate’s shoulders, feeling the sharp wings of his shoulder blades through his tunic. “Stef, I don’t know what to tell you. Sometimes it feels like you’ve been head over heels for Uncle Van almost as long as I’ve known you. Just, I don’t think he’s going to budge on this, at least not until you’re a lot older, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Stef shuffled into his shoulder. “Don’t want to stop talking to him,” he said dully. “We have the best conversations.” A weak chuckle. “It’s funny. He’s very well-read, but not the books we’ve studied. At least not recently. He knows about the history of other kingdoms centuries ago, but he’s rusty on the Windrider Cycle, and he didn’t even know some of the historical ballads at all.”

“He’s not a Bard,” Medren said. “His education in everything other than magic got cut short, I think, when he was Chosen.”

“That’s what he said.” There was a distant smile on Stef’s lips now. “He wanted to be one, you know.”

“Wanted to be what?”

“A Bard.” Stef shook his head. “He told me how he would hide in a secret room behind the library and practice. Sometimes I catch him looking at me and it’s like he’s _jealous_. He said–” Stef squeezed his eyes shut, “–he said that this isn’t the life he asked for, and he can’t regret it, but he certainly wouldn’t wish it on anyone else.” He made a face. “Can’t figure who wouldn’t want to be a hero of the realm, but I guess it’s not all fun.”

A pang in Medren’s chest. “He’s never told me half that stuff. Stef, he must think the world of you, that he’s willing to share it with you.”

Stef’s shoulder stiffened. “Medren. Not helping. Please.” He pulled away. “Hey, can I have the room to myself for a few minutes?”

Medren smirked. “Need to take care of some business, huh?”

“Shut. Up.”

* * *

Withen tilted his glass, swirling the brandy in the bottom of it. “Son, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” Vanyel took a sip from his own cup. He didn’t even like brandy very much, but he never knew how to say no to Father’s offers.

“It’s about the north.” Withen’s voice was gruff, but there was an odd nakedness in his eyes; he watched Vanyel closely. “Something’s going on, isn’t it?”

It was only by dint of long practice, with a much tougher audience, that Vanyel avoided visibly tensing, despite the sudden churning in his stomach.

“Why do you think that?” he said, keeping his voice casual.

Withen squirmed, clearly uncomfortable. “The way your Randale pushed on the annexation. He’s always been a mover and shaker, but still, even for him that was fast. Just makes a man wonder, y’know?” He scratched at his wrist. “And I’ve seen the looks you and Liss give each other. Reckon she knows, too. But not the Council.” A shrug. “Could be I’m just a paranoid old man, but, I don’t know.”

What was he even supposed to say?

 _:’Fandes:_ he sent. _:Help:_

She was there in an instant, watching through his eyes. _:Don’t lie to him:_ she sent finally. _:Your father’s not a stupid man:_

No, he wasn’t. And Vanyel constantly managed to forget that despite Withen’s gaping inability to have a straight conversation about a wide range of topics, and his difficulty reading and writing, he was very perceptive in his own way. He had to be – he had run the Forst Reach holding for decades, in hindsight rather well.

“Father,” he said. “You know there are things I can’t tell you. This is one of them. I can say this much – you’re not crazy and you’re not being paranoid.”

“There is something.” Withen set down the glass, and adjusted his position in the chair. “State secret?” His eyes rested on Vanyel’s carefully neutral expression, and then he turned away, chuckling. “I’m sorry, son. Won’t press any more.”

He seemed almost embarrassed, Vanyel thought. _It must be strange for him, that his two eldest children are both higher-ranked than he is._ Lissa’s case was arguable – she was mostly included on the secret because she was his sister, not because of her position in the Guard – but nonetheless.

“Won’t push so hard for concessions either,” Withen said after a moment. “Reckon if you’re asking for my gold and my men, you need them.”

“Thank you, Father.” Vanyel wasn’t sure what else to say – hearing Withen cede ground on the matter of taxes was bizarre.

Withen chuckled. “Don’t look so gobsmacked. Still going to stand up for what my people need.”

The silence stretched out, but not awkwardly. Vanyel let his eyes drift to the window, watching the snow drift down in fat flakes.

In a few weeks, the year would be 808. Arven would be three years old, and Jisa’s thirteenth name day was on its way. Brightstar and Featherfire would be turning seventeen in spring. Nearly adults – and by Tayledras terms, they had been taking on adult roles for a while now. _Gods, I miss them._

Brightstar was about the same age as Stef. What an unbearably strange thought.

 _I don’t know how much more time I have._ Or whether, in the end, it would be worth anything at all. It was something he tried not to dwell on, and he knew that Savil felt the same way. Aside from the periods explicitly set aside for thinking about Leareth, they went through their lives one day at a time, focusing on the present, the needs of the moment. Not the enormity of the unanswered questions ahead.

Withen was watching him, smiling sadly. “Copper for your thoughts, son?”

Vanyel straightened up in his chair. “Sorry. Just marvelling at how time passes. I’ve been a Herald more than half my life, now.”

“The years do go by.” Withen turned to follow his gaze, watching the snow fall.

“Father…” There was something rising in his chest, that he couldn’t name. “I’m…glad. That you came to Haven. It’s good to speak more often.” _I love you._

A gruff snort. “Don’t get sappy on me, boy.”

Which, Vanyel thought, was Father’s way of saying ‘I love you too’.

* * *

Tantras stood in the doorway, arms folded. “I said, we have to talk.”

Randi didn’t bother trying to stand or even sit up straight, only turned his head. “Right now?”

“You’ve been putting it off for weeks.” The former King’s Own Herald stalked across the room, and sat with a thud in one of Randi’s armchairs. 

_There hasn’t been time –_ but that wasn’t the real reason. Randi could have made time. If he’d felt in any way up for dealing with this.

“I’m tired,” he said heavily. “And I don’t even know how to start that conversation. But we can have it now, if you insist.” The twinging aches all over his body were a distraction – gods, he wished he could have Stef here for this – but that wasn’t an option, and the pain was less distracting than the fog of drugs.

Shavri was out, one of the rare nights that she belted Need to her side and left the Palace grounds. It was hard, having her away, but Randi sensed it was something she needed, and oddly, he thought he understood it. Rescuing a couple of women from bad situations was only a fraction of the good she did for Valdemar every day, holding his government together by sheer force of will, but it was a problem that was direct and immediate, the results visible and real to her. Like her occasional forays to the House of Healing, it was one of the things that kept her sane, and he couldn’t begrudge her that.

Tran fidgeted in his seat. “I don’t know how to start either. You broke with our policy and blindsided me, bringing Van to that meeting. We’re not on the same page, and I’m worried.”

“Everyone else was fine with having Van there.”

“You mean, no one said anything.” Tran grunted. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right, but you haven’t convinced me of it.” A gusty breath. “Randi, why do you trust him?”

“Because he’s a Herald. Because he’ll do what it takes to keep Valdemar safe, no matter what that is.” The words slipped out before he had really had a chance to consider them.

“Why do you think that?” Tran said, almost gently.

An echo of Vanyel’s voice in his memory. _Why do you believe what you believe?_ A phrase that was very likely Leareth’s; at this point, Randi didn’t even bother to ask anymore.

Tran was right; it was something they needed to cover. _I just don’t know how._

“Tran?” he said suddenly. “Could we ask Melody to help us talk through it?” 

Tran went very still in the chair. “Melody?”

“She helped mediate a few conversations I had with Van, early on.” Coming on two years ago now. “She’s really good at it. And I suspect she would be happy to help.”

Tran slowly lifted a hand to his forehead. “…All right. Happy to try. Should I check if she’s free tonight?”

It was half a candlemark later.

“Both of you comfy?” Melody said, lacing her hands together in her lap.

Randi wasn’t, exactly, but he nodded anyway.

“Good.” Her eyes darted between the two of them. “So. The two of you are both trying to answer a complicated and fraught question, and your gut-feelings point in different directions. A lot of our judgements don’t happen on a conscious level, so it makes sense that it’s hard to talk about. Still, I have some ideas about how to approach it.” She waited until they both nodded. “Good. Now, I’m going to ask you to both think quietly for a minute, and then answer this question: what would change your mind? I don’t want vague answers, I want something very clear and specific – a fact you could learn, an event that could happen. Something in the world that could be different, and it would shift what side you fell on. All right?”

 _I’d bet fifty silvers that’s something she picked up from Van._ Randi wondered if Tran had come to the same conclusion. He supposed it didn’t matter. Melody’s judgement, at least on this, they both trusted as much as anyone’s.

_What would change my mind?_

If Yfandes left again. Was that true? He turned it over in his mind, trying to decide, and – yes. It wasn’t the only factor, but he could never have certainty, and it would be enough to bring him firmly back towards locking Vanyel out of their decision-making.

What else?

If Rolan raised concerns, he decided. The fact that the Groveborn had vouched for Vanyel – sort of – had been a major contribution to his current level of trust.

If Vanyel acted against direct orders. Which seemed terribly unlikely – and excusable, or at least understandable, in some contexts – but if it did happen, Randi would have to admit he had been wrong about something, and he ought to jump to damage control while he reassessed.

“All right,” Melody said. “Tran, care to go first?”

The other Herald made a face. “Gods, this is hard to think about. I don’t know. Maybe if he came down strongly against Leareth. Announced that, no, he’s done his thinking and it’s actually just as black-and-white as it looks at first glance, and Leareth needs to be stopped at all costs.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, still seems disturbing that he would have needed two years to think about it – two years! But he clearly thinks it’s what he needs to do, being open-minded to it and really considering it, and…I guess I can’t fault him for that, if he comes to the right answer.”

 _It’s not black and white, and_ _we don’t know the right answer._ Tran’s certainty still grated.

“Right.” Melody’s cool nod gave nothing away of her reaction. Her eyes flashed to the window, and she sipped her tea and set it down in her lap, finger stroking the rim. “Randi?”

He closed his eyes. “If Rolan denounced him, or Yfandes did. Or he disobeyed orders and did something I would never have agreed to.”

Melody waited for a beat. “Thank you, both of you. Unfortunately, it seems that your considerations don’t really overlap. Hmm. I think it has to be the case that either you have different beliefs on a fact of the matter, something concrete out in the world, or you’re using a different process to evaluate the facts. I’m not sure which of those it is, entirely, but I suspect part of the disagreement is in how you reason about ethics.” A pause. “Randi. What makes something right or wrong?”

 _Oh, gods, a test._ He wondered if they still had the ethics-questions on the final Heraldic tests – and if Van’s, well, Leareth’s bizarre hypotheticals would make a useful addition there. Even if the man was wrong, maybe it was important to give their Heralds some basic immunity against that type of clever argument, and the skill to debate it head-on.

 _Focus._ “Hmm.” All his memories of Seldasen’s terms for different schools of ethics had fled. “Ultimately, if it results in better things for people.”

“So, results not intentions. Can you unpack ‘better’?”

Randi closed his eyes, cupped his hands over his nose. “Um, an outcome is better if it leaves more people safe and healthy and happy, free to pursue their lives – and the process isn’t burning trust, or setting bad precedents, or otherwise making it harder for anyone to make the right choices later. And…intentions do matter, I think. It’s possible for someone to do a lot of good for the world by accident, or because it happens to align with what they selfishly want, but that does have implications for whether they ought to be trusted.”

Melody’s answer was gentle, patient. “Why?”

“…Because someone who’s out for themselves will stab you in the back if that’s what’s good for them, later.” It felt slippery in his mind, the sense of grasping at something in fog. “I mean, sometimes you can work with people like that. Lord Lathan on the Council is an excellent example, and he does make useful contributions. But I’d never call him a particularly moral man.”

“Can you explain what you mean by precedent?”

It was the words of the Herald’s Creed that came immediately to mind. “The deeds of those who lived before show us the way,” he said. “Our sacred trust. It’s, just… Sometimes we do need to take the path of expediency – sometimes I have to order Heralds to go out to our Borders and be monsters, just so our Kingdom can survive – but it costs something, to do that. It’s why Valdemar doesn’t invade and conquer. Why we had to wait for Karis, even though we could have won the war at least a year earlier if we’d marched on Sunhame then. There’s a weight in it. We would have sacrificed something permanent by breaking that trust.”

Like Vanyel had, when he had chosen the path of expediency and used blood-magic. Randi thought it had been worth it – if Van had died out there, they would never have learned of Leareth’s plan, much less had a chance to stop it – but he couldn’t deny the cost.

Another uncomfortable flicker of thought. If he chose to take the war to Leareth, they _would_ be breaking with eight hundred years of law. In the world where failing to stop Leareth meant the destruction of everything he cared about, and quite possibly the literal end of the world, it would be worth it by far, but it wasn’t a decision to make lightly, or without fully acknowledging the price.

“Thank you,” Melody said. “Tran, how about you?”

The former King’s Own was staring intently at a spot just to the right of Randi’s head. “I’m no good at talking about this,” he said finally. “It’s about trying to do right by other people, I guess. Wanting the best for them – like Randi said, for them to be safe and happy and healthy and free – and then acting on that, even when it costs you something. Treating people’s lives as sacred – not treating people as things, to accomplish what you want.” He grimaced. “I mean, sometimes you gamble wrong and the right choice ends badly. But it might still have been right.”

“Mmm.” Melody shifted in the chair, rubbed her chin. “And what makes an action still right, even if you were unlucky and it went badly?”

Tran squeezed his eyes shut, screwing up his face. He spoke slowly, hesitating between words. “If…it’s what…you’d want other people to do, if you switched places. Treating other people as you’d want to be treated. Murder is wrong, and trying to save someone’s life is good, because that’s what you’d want a stranger to do for you. Lying is…sometimes justifiable, to save a life, but…if everyone lied all the time, where would we be? So it’s wrong to lie for personal gain, because then everyone is worse off.”

“I see. Thank you.” Melody drained her teacup, and sat back. “You’ve used different words, but I think you’re getting at something similar, underneath. Randi, you mentioned precedents, and a sacred trust, and not sacrificing that for expediency. Tran, you talked about rules that would make the world better if everyone followed them. I thinkthere’s a concept here that you’re both grasping for.”

She hesitated. “Imagine, for a minute, that we could all pause time and step out of the world, for a minute. See ourselves from the outside, and everyone else too, the whole past and the whole future, and talk about what ought to be different. I think there’s a question of what sort of people we would want to be, and what sort of people we would want other people to be, in order that we get to live in a world that’s as nice as possible.” She uncrossed her legs, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “In reality, of course, we don’t get that. We don’t have all the facts, including about ourselves; we can’t fully see what drives us, or easily change it. All we can do is make our choices. Precedent, universal ethical maxims – those are both another way of saying, we ought to try to act the way that we would, if we could step outside time and talk with all the other past and future people, on how to live in the best version of our world.”

Silence.

Randi rubbed his eyes. “Is this Van’s – well, Leareth’s – bizarre thing about signing hypothetical contracts with your future self or future other people?”

Melody smiled. “Related, yes. Did my explanation make sense?”

Tran scowled. “Ow. My head.” He scraped a hand through his hair. “I…think I sort of understand? We don’t actually get to have a meeting with all the people who’ll ever exist to talk about how we think ethics should work, but when I say that murder is wrong, I’m… You could say I’m making a case that ‘don’t murder’ is something all the people in the world would agree on, if we had to sit down and hash it out.”

“Right. And you’re trying to be the sort of person that you would want everyone to be, if you got to coordinate on it.” A pause. “Can we take a step back from the current situation? Consider it abstractly, as a case where you’re trying to figure out how apply the universal policy that you would have agreed upon, and see if we can get anywhere.”

Candlemarks had passed.

“No!” Tran slammed his palm down on the chair’s arm. “We would _absolutely_ agree on a policy of not supplying child rapists. I don’t see what’s controversial about that at _all_.”

Randi lifted a mollifying hand. “It’s not. Just…I’m not sure that’s actually a policy, in practice. It’s not always a clear either-or. The actual choice we have, in practice, is how far to investigate whether someone is a bad person before we recruit them and hand them power and resource – and where we set the line for ‘bad people’. Tran, you know what the vetting standards were for the Guard, during the war. They weren’t high. And you know what Seldasen had to compromise on, when he pushed to hire outside mercenaries.” _Thank the gods I never had to make that choice._ “If we did unwittingly recruit child rapists to the Guard, I’m sure that the ones who were caught faced exile or death,” he must have signed those warrants during the war but it was all a blur now, “but I’m equally sure some _weren’t_ caught, and we handed them a sword and their pay anyway. Because setting our standards so high that we would filter out every single bad actor in our own ranks was more costly than we could afford.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I know that sounds awful. But it’s true. I take great issue with where exactly Leareth sets his standards for who to recruit, and yet I’m not sure how much that’s me speaking from a place of safety and luxury. We don’t have to hire people we know are monsters just to keep our peasant-folk alive. Seldasen did.” He shook his head. “I think Leareth has done a lot of absolutely horrific things, when to me it hardly seemed necessary, and it says something about his character – but I _don’t_ think it’s as simple as him having crossed a line. Because if that’s how it works, if there’s a clear bright line we cross the minute we add a rapist to the Guard’s pay-roster, then we’re all monsters.”

Tran was looking a bit cross-eyed.

“And I don’t think it breaks our sacred trust,” Randi went on, “that Van is willing to talk to him, and even see the good in him. It doesn’t mean he’s on Leareth’s side.”

Tran’s mouth twisted. “He’s not on our side either.”

Randi closed his eyes. “No. He’s loyal to something bigger than a King, or a country. He’s fighting for the whole world, Tran. And…it is frightening, and I don’t know for sure that he’ll come to the right answer, but it’s no different for me. We’re all human, trying our best to be something more.”

Silence.

“Do you still think Van was wrong in Sunhame?” Randi said softly.

Tran flinched as though under a blow.

“No,” he said finally, the word seeming to drift and rest on the rug between them. “I think he crossed a line – but I guess all that means is he broke a precedent, and sacrificed a little piece of our sacred trust, because…that price was lower than the alternative.” His face was reddening, a vein pulsing in his temple; it was clear how much the admission cost. Expression was tense and unhappy, he went on. “Hellfires, we might break with ‘Valdemar does not invade and conquer’, and gods forbid the consequences, in order to fight Leareth. That’s big, it’s _really_ big, but I’m not blind – it might be worth it the price. I’ve argued in favour. And…it’s not really a different sort of line.”

Tran shook his head. “I guess murder and blood-magic aren’t really different sorts of lines, either, and I _have_ killed with my own hands. Still think blood-magic is worse, a lot worse, and I’d figure most people agree, but saying it’s a different kind of bad would be like saying there are two tiers to morality, and…I don’t think that.” His face clenched. “We have to make tradeoffs. Even with things that are sacred. It really would have been worse if we’d lost Van, and any chance to stop Leareth in time.” 

Melody was nodding encouragingly. Randi waited, silent.

Tran turned his eyes to the floor. “So… It’s all a mess, and Van and I are making a different tradeoff. I think he’s making the wrong one. But…I do think his heart is in the right place.” He trailed off, blinking, confusion in every line of his face.

“You think he’s making an error in judgement.” Melody’s voice was perfectly level. “What would convince you otherwise?”

To Randi’s surprise, Tran’s lips tugged into a faint smile. “If he actually managed to talk Leareth into leaving us alone and giving up his stupid plan.”

“Could you imagine that happening?”

“…Yes.” The word dragged unwillingly from him. “Seems really unlikely. But conceivable. Gods, if anyone can out-argue a brilliant immortal mage, it’s Van.”

“So there’s a possible world in which Vanyel is making the right choice?”

“…Yes.” Tran folded his arms, his cheeks reddening. “Fine. I admit it. I could be wrong and he could be right.”

Silence.

“I don’t want you to agree with him,” Randi said finally. “I want you to follow your conscience. That’s all any of us can ever do.” He leaned forward. “But I do want you to respect the fact that Vanyel is trying to do right by us – and that he might fail, and involving him in our meetings is a risk, but sometimes that tradeoff is worth it.”

“Right.” Tran’s breath whuffed out in an irritated sigh. “I see that. He’s very good at creative ideas.”

 _He’s one of my best advisors,_ Randi thought, _and if that’s thanks to Leareth, well, it says something about the man._ He didn’t voice it out loud.

“Same page now?” Melody said briskly.

No, not entirely. But at least it felt like they were vaguely speaking the same language. That was progress.


	12. Chapter Twelve

“Look.” One arm still wrapped around Sandra as she sat on the bench, Kilchas let his hand drift around her body, pointing. “See the new star?”

She squinted. “…Oh. I do.” She tilted her head back, dark eyes reflecting the starlight. In the near-darkness, he couldn’t see the faint crease that he knew was between her brows, but he heard the frown in her voice. “What makes a new star?”

“We don’t know.” Maybe no one ever would. It was so hard to measure the distant sky. “It might not last. The astronomer Cavas recorded a new star in the year one hundred twenty-two, but it faded away eight months later.”

“It died. Sad.”

He tousled her hair. “Stars aren’t alive, Sandra.” At least, they assumed not; the sun in the sky might be _magic_ , for all they knew, but it didn’t behave like a living thing. Still, no one really knew.

Maybe Leareth did.

Sandra, as usual, guessed the direction of his thoughts. “You’re wondering if _he_ has a theory.” A definite emphasis on ‘he’.

“A little.”

“You could ask Van to ask him.”

Kilchas chuckled. “I could. Not worth it, I wager. They’ve got limited time, and more important questions.” He kissed the crown of her head before she could duck away. “You’re shivering.”

It was a clear night, a few weeks after Midwinter. The year was 808. Another spring would be on its way soon, but not yet, and it was chilly. His glass-roofed hut would be sheltered from the breeze, and his heat-spell would be considerably more efficient – but it had snowed the day before and the roof was coated in several inches of opaque white, which sort of negated the point of stargazing. “If I climb up top and sweep off the snow,” he offered, “we could go inside–”

“You will not.” A snort. “You’ll break your fool neck. I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself, then.” He draped the edge of his cloak around her, swaying from side to side. Imagining music. It had always seemed to him like there was music in the stars.

“Maybe a new star is like a falling star,” he said lightly. “Something you can wish on. What’s your wish, Sandra?”

“I wish you’d stop being such a clown.” She elbowed his ribs, though not hard. “Seriously, though… I would wish for this to be over.”

“This?”

Her hand swept across the skyline. “Worrying. Waiting. Not knowing what we’re going to do.”

His arms tightened around her. “I know. Sandra, it’s better than already being at war.”

“Is it?” A pause. “Don’t know when you turned into such a pacifist, Kilchas.”

“When I fell in love with you, probably.” An urgent ache in his chest, overflowing. “Sandra, I want to give you the world. A _good_ world. One worth saving, day after day after day.” _One worth bringing a baby into_ , some part of him wanted to say, but that wasn’t ever going to happen. Not for them, not in this life.

“You’re a sentimental old man.” She leaned into him anyway. “It drives me wild, but it’s sweet. Don’t stop being you.”

It was the closest she had ever come to saying she didn’t mind him trying to see it from Leareth’s point of view.

He opened his mouth to answer, but it was suddenly hard to catch his breath. It wasn’t just affection pressing on his chest; there was a squeezing, crushing pain behind his breastbone. _Something’s wrong._

“Sandra–”

She spun and caught him under the arms as he sagged. Distantly, he was awed by her gracefulness. Even when she was sparring, she moved like a dancer. He loved to dance with her, though he was terrible at it and they surely looked ridiculous together.

 _:Kilchas!:_ Her mindvoice like a slap. _:Stay with me. I’m calling for help:_

His limbs were so heavy. It felt like a horse was sitting on his chest – ha, that was a funny image. He laughed, and choked on it.

 _:Chosen!:_ Rohan reached for his mind. _:Hang on. Focus. Don’t you dare die on me:_

He was sprawled on the cold stone, now, Sandra cradling his head in her lap. She was whispering something to him, he thought, but his ears were ringing, his vision fading out into a sea of black dots. He tried to speak, to tell her that it was all right, but his lips were numb and there was no air in his lungs.

 _Reckon it’s a good thing I didn’t climb the roof,_ he thought, and giggled, and then everything faded out.

* * *

It was, as always, almost painful to break out of the Healing-meld. The quiet green peace of it clung to her in droplets even as Shavri opened her eyes.

Around her, the others were doing the same – including, to her surprise, Savil and Vanyel both. _When did they get here?_

Sandra sat cross-legged on the cot with Kilchas’ head cradled in her lap. Her eyes darted about, and locked onto Shavri. “Will he be all right?”

“I hope so.” Half-naked on the bed – there hadn’t been time to undress him fully, nor cover him properly – Kilchas looked very frail. A wizened, shrivelled tree of a man, his wrinkled-apple cheeks slack, hair splayed out like a tangle of yellow-grey wire. He wasn’t even sixty, Shavri thought, but the years had treated him hard; he looked older than Savil. Lips grey, but he was breathing a little steadier now.

“We’ve cleared the blockage,” she said, “but his heart-muscle was damaged. And his heart did stop beating for, we’re not sure what length of time.” She dared a glance over at the white shape puddled on the floor, to one side of the room. “Is his Rohan all right?” The Companion stallion was actually the one who had summoned her, waking her from a sound sleep with a frantic Mindtouch.

“He’s in shock,” Andrel said, straightening up. “But he’ll live, if his Herald does.”

“He’s not out of danger yet,” Gemma said, “but if he pulls through the night, I think he’ll be all right.” Her eyes went to one of the trainees. “Davi! Can we please get a blanket on him or something? Thank you. And close the goddamned door. Remember, we do _not_ leave the door to the shielded room open, it defeats the entire purpose.”

Gemma was always cranky in the aftermath of a high-stakes Healing-meld. It meant she wasn’t that worried, Shavri thought; when she was genuinely concerned about a patient, she got quiet and said ‘please’ a lot. It was the relief that made her snappy.

Shavri had reached the astronomy-tower in under two minutes, and found Kilchas unconscious in Sandra’s arms, his life-force disorganized and fading, too late to establish a link – but not, quite, too late to bring him back, slamming him with all the energy she could muster. And then seconds and minutes of cautious, delicate work, trying to keep his unsteady heart-rhythm in line, until enough other Healers and trainees arrived to risk transporting him.

She was exhausted, but the knife-edged alertness was still there. _I forgot how alive it makes me feel._ She touched the hilt of the sword at her hip. _:Thank you, Need:_

 _:About time:_ She had the vague sense of a playful swat at her head. _:You did good:_ High praise, coming from Need.

She reached for Vanyel’s mind. _:Why are you here?:_

His eyes flicked to her. _:’Fandes woke me. Figured maybe you could use my energy for the Healing-meld:_

 _:Oh. That’s where it all came from:_ She had wondered, but she had been deep enough in trance that she wasn’t aware of the world at all. _:Thank you:_

 _:You’re welcome:_ Vanyel’s lips pressed together. _:I couldn’t not help. He’s my friend:_

And one of six remaining mages, Shavri thought. It felt crass to point out – everyone’s life was precious, whether or not they were as badly needed by the Kingdom as Kilchas – but, well, he was needed.

* * *

“We did it.” Savil’s eyes were alight, practically glowing. “Van, Sandra, I can’t believe it. We did it!” The words trailed off into an almost girlish squeal.

It was finally spring, and the three of them were in the grounds, in the private courtyard between two adjacent room-blocks of the Heralds’ Wing. They stood in front of a stone arch, just barely tall and wide enough for a person to crawl through – which was what they had just done, after testing it thoroughly with inanimate objects and then mice. Over it, they could see the flowerbeds, flattened and brown, slowly re-emerging from under clumps of snow.

Through the threshold itself, though, was a different sight – the age-blackened stone wall, fifty yards away.

The Gate-energy washed over him, but he could relax into it. And it wasn’t actually so bad; it leaked less than an ordinary Gate, the energy cupped in place by the structure of the threshold itself. He thought it was disrupting the local energy-currents less as well, which hopefully meant it wasn’t going to play havoc with the weather so much.

“I can’t believe it!” Savil spun on the spot. “A permanent Gate. We did it!”

“Remarkable.” Sandra’s voice was abstracted.

They hadn’t, in the end, been able to figure out how Urtho had built his energy-source for his Gate-network, nor the exact method used in the Eastern Empire – but they had a third one. It wasn’t until two months ago, shortly after Midwinter, that Vanyel had pointed out that, while you couldn’t tie set-spells directly to a node, you _could_ build permanent spells fuelled by a Heartstone. Highjorune was an example.

Creating a tiny Heartstone every under Gate wasn’t a feasible option, but they had another option. The Web. He hadn’t been at all sure it would work – the Web had something of a mind of its own, after all, and he couldn’t always predict how it would behave – but it seemed that, for now, the Web agreed that having a permanent Gate was to their advantage, and was playing along.

The two miniature thresholds had taken a month to build, with him, Savil, and Sandra all dedicating most of their free time to it – Kilchas was still recovering in the House of Healing, where he had been for the last three months, and hadn’t been able to participate, though he had offered advice when Vanyel visited to talk through it.

_We did it._

It was groundbreaking. Incredible. Maybe the first time in almost two thousand years that anyone outside the Eastern Empire had built a permanent Gate-terminus.

 _:Very good work:_ Yfandes was nearby, watching. _:I’m proud of you, love. All of you:_

It had taken up more of his time than Vanyel had liked, eating away at the candlemarks he needed to think over his discussions with Leareth, but it had seemed a worthwhile tradeoff. If they could just build a few more thresholds in key locations, then even weak mages like Nani and Tamara, now recalled to safety in Haven, would be able to Gate long distances. Sunhame would be their first stop – it was unclear if they could use the exact technique there, since it would require Vanyel to create another Heartstone deep in territory that decidedly belonged to a different god. At the very least, Savil thought she could create an unpowered threshold and still ‘link’ it to the main terminus in Haven, which would allow them to easily raise Gates in one direction at least. 

They would have to build a new terminus, large enough for a Companion to pass. Doable. All they needed was time.

 _Please, please, let us have enough time._ Vanyel wasn’t sure to whom he was addressing that plea. Certainly not the gods.

The spring equinox, and Karis’ visit, would fall in a week. He and Savil needed to choose whether to return to Sunhame with Karis and start on her end of the new Gate-terminus, or build the Haven side first. _I wish all the choices we have to make were that straightforward._

Sandra was smirking, almost slyly, like a cat that had gotten into the cream. “Kilchas is going to be so jealous. I’d best go tell him, I suppose.” Her voice held little expression, but Sandra never had been very demonstrative.

Savil laughed, almost a giggle – she was clearly still giddy. “Don’t give him a shock, or Andrel will have your head.”

“I’ll behave.” Sandra stalked away, her gait vaguely reminiscent of a marsh-heron.

 _I should tell Stef._ Usually, a young Bard wouldn’t have been cleared to know about this research, but Stefen was one of Katha’s spies; he was privy to a great deal of sensitive information, and he had showed excellent discretion in the last six months. He would be so impressed–

 _You just want an excuse to invite him for dinner again_ , Vanyel thought wryly.

Yfandes’ laughter in his head. _:Do you need an excuse to see a good friend?:_

It was odd, noticing that Stef really had become one of his closer friends in recent months. It wasn’t just because the young man was awfully pleasant to look at, though Yfandes teased him constantly when he struggled to avoid staring. Stef was charming, brilliant, and full of surprises. With his constant scheming and ruthlessly flexible sense of ethics, he could scarcely have been less like your average Herald, and yet.

Maybe that was exactly why they got along. Gods, and if Stef and Leareth could ever meet–

_I wish I could tell Leareth._

Word of their feat would reach him eventually, of course. It wasn’t going to remain secret for long once they were using it for state visits to Sunhame – they weren’t going to come out and call it a permanent Gate, but the breakthrough would be obvious even to laypeople, and they couldn’t keep it quiet forever. Not unless they deliberately didn’t use it, and Randi didn’t think that keeping it a surprise was worth giving up its value now.

Still, in the meantime, there was no point revealing more than he had to. Even if part of him wanted to see the mostly-hidden glint of pride in Leareth’s black eyes.

His year was nearly over. Vanyel’s Gifts, as Savil had expected, were fully recovered, his control was better than it had ever been. He could Gate reliably without pain, though so far he had only tried with toy practice-Gates.

 _It’s not enough time._ He wasn’t going to be able to wrap his head around all of Leareth’s work. That was something he had finally admitted to himself, glaring in frustration at a wall of numbers. Yfandes was closer, but even she had admitted that she didn’t have the theoretical underpinnings she needed to understand it. _Give me twenty years to re-derive it_ , she said, _and maybe._

It was coming on nineteen years since the Foresight dream had started. They didn’t have another twenty.

Ultimately, all of the parts of it that he could check did hang together, with an elegance that still took his breath away. The derivation for the power-requirements was straightforward, and Vanyel could check that for himself – ten million was right, at least within an order of magnitude. Though not all at once – the initial steps, imprinting an infant god-mind on the malleable fabric of reality, would require only about a hundred deaths. And as many Adept-class mages, to channel that energy in a single instant. More power than had ever been wielded at once by human hands.

It would be possible, in theory, to use another source, but again it seemed Leareth was right – using node-energy would take a century. Time that the Star-Eyed and the other gods might not grant him.

_All we need is time–_

Leareth didn’t seem rushed, exactly, but wasn’t very open to delaying either. Understandably, if he was right and the ancient Cataclysm was coming back to haunt them. Four or five centuries might seem like plenty of time, but he had already been working on this for longer than that, and there were so many hiccups he might encounter along the way; it made perfect sense to Vanyel that Leareth didn’t want to tarry.

_Do I trust him that he’s ready?_

No. Not yet.

Was that even the right question? Leareth was willing to slaughter ten million people, if that was what it took. What did that say about the wisdom of imprinting his values on a god?

And yet, he did genuinely want to heal all the horrors in the world. He said that was what drove him, and Vanyel believed him.

And yet, and yet, and yet–

 _You’re going in circles._ He shook himself. “Savil?”

“Hmm?” She was staring into the distance as well, a sappy grin still on her face.

“Shall we close it?” Not take it down. The Gate would still be there, curled-up and dormant, a sealed crack that could open in an instant on the Void.

“Let’s.” She turned to him. “Care to do the honours?”

* * *

“Well, congratulations.” Shavri was smiling broadly. “Jisa, pet, you’re nearly a woman now.”

“I thought getting my monthly meant I already was a woman.” Jisa tried not to pout. Her belly hurt, and her mother had just finished showing her how to tuck the absorbent cotton pad inside her smallclothes. It felt scratchy and uncomfortable, though Mother said she would get used to it soon enough.

A chuckle. “Theoretically you could bear a child now, but your body isn’t really ready. And womanhood is about more than just that.” A pause. “Well, sit down. I’ll bring you that heat pack. It is normal for it to ache a bit, but the willowbark should help.”

“Thank you.” Jisa settled herself on the sofa, legs curled under her.

Nearly a woman. She had just turned thirteen, and her body was still changing – she wasn’t going to grow any taller, Mother said, but her hips and bottom had a new roundness, and her gowns from Midwinter didn’t fit in the chest anymore. Jisa rarely bothered to wear them anyway. When she wasn’t in Blues or in her Healing-trainee robes, it was much more practical to go around in the homespun trews and loose shirt she wore to train in the salle.

“Here.” Mother passed over the warmed cloth sack of grain-kernels, and then joined her on the sofa. She ran a soft hand over Jisa’s hair, then leaned to kiss her forehead. “I can’t believe it. My daughter, nearly all grown up. You look so beautiful.”

Jisa squirmed. “I’m not. You only think that because you’re my mother.”

Shavri just chuckled. She had such a nice, tinkling laugh, Jisa thought. Ladylike. Unlike her daughter, who sounded like a donkey.

“You are. You have very good bone structure.” Mother looked at her, head tilted to the side. “You could do more with your hair. Braid it around the side, some ribbons just here… And you never wear your nice gowns.”

“They’re uncomfortable.” Jisa slumped back against the sofa with a loud sigh. “Mother, there isn’t any point. It’s like putting lace on a horse-blanket.” She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “I’m fine with the way I look. Don’t want to be pretty and delicate like a flower.”

“It is up to you what you wear. Though I would like it if you put something nice on for the spring festival.” Mother sat back as well, clasping her hands together as though steeling herself for something. “I suppose we should have the usual talk. Are you having any feelings for boys yet?” A pause. “Or girls. Nothing wrong with that either.”

Jisa scowled. “Do we have to?”

“I’m serious. I want you to feel comfortable talking to me about it.” A smirk. “You do seem to like looking at Treven, these days.”

“Mother!”

Shavri giggled. “Don’t blame you. He is awfully good-looking. Figure he’ll be absolutely dreamy in a few years.” 

“Ew!” Jisa clapped both hands over her face. “Stop!”

“Sorry. Unfortunately, he’s not a very appropriate person for you to, er, dally with, given his position. He ought to keep himself available for a potential alliance-marriage, like your papa did.”

“Mother, _please.”_ Jisa wasn’t sure if her face had ever been this red before. “I am not going to ‘dally with’ Treven. Gross.” Sure, his hair was very pretty when the sun hit it, and he had that sunny smile that could make anyone like him, but she didn’t like him _that_ way. Though Mother was so irritating, it made her want to say she _was_ going to, just out of spite. “I could if I wanted, though. You can’t just forbid it.”

Shavri shook her head, looking like she wasn’t sure whether to glower or laugh. “Havens forbid anyone ever tell you what not to do.”

Jisa folded her arms across her chest. “Anyway, isn’t ‘the usual talk’ supposed to be about how babies are made? Because I already know about that. Melody even told me where to get contraceptive-herbs if I wanted.”

Shavri cleared her throat. “You’re most definitely not old enough for that, Jisa. Why are you asking Melody about this instead of your own mother?”

Because it was about a billion times less embarrassing and weird; Melody was so unflappable, and she never looked disapproving or judgemental. “I wasn’t _going_ to,” Jisa snapped, turning away. _If you keep telling me not to maybe I will,_ she wanted to say, but that was exactly the kind of ‘attitude’ that Mother always got huffy about. 

She had had a few long conversations with Melody about various things related to growing up, boys, and romance. Including the…physical parts of romance. Jisa had found it intriguing, albeit very strange and a bit icky.

 _Wait, how does Uncle Van do it then,_ she had asked without thinking at one point, and then wanted to sink into the floor, but it had earned her only a raised eyebrow and ‘you know, I’ve never asked.’

The silence stretched out.

Mother let her breath out in a whispered sigh. “Jisa, I’m sorry. This isn’t going the way I hoped at all. Listen… I know, er, I imagine it must be uncomfortable speaking with me about it, and it’s not so awkward with Melody. She is very sensible and I’m sure she’ll give you good advice.” She tentatively reached for Jisa’s shoulder. “I know it’s all a bit sensitive and confusing at your age. Or at least it was for me. I’d like if you felt comfortable coming to me, but seems all I’ve succeeded at is embarrassing you.”

She sounded so apologetic, Jisa couldn’t help softening. “It’s all right. I’m sorry for goading you, that wasn’t very mature.” She wasn’t sure why being around Mother in particular always made her act so much younger than her age. It didn’t happen with Papa, or Father.

Shavri just laughed, pulling Jisa close. “You’re thirteen. You don’t have to be grown-up all the time just yet.”

* * *

“You’re quiet,” Vanyel said. “Everything all right?”

 _Everything’s perfectly all right,_ Stef thought irritably, _except for the fact that I want to do things to you that aren’t spoken of in polite company._ It was hard, being alone with Van in his suite, it took a constant battle of will to behave himself – but Stef wouldn’t have given it up for anything.

“Mmm?” Stef lifted his head. “Fine. Just a little tired.”

They were sitting a very proper yard or so apart. Van had just poured him a cup of wine, and they were waiting for the supper he had called for.

A crease of concern appeared between Vanyel’s brows. “Randi had a bad day?”

“Moderate-bad. Not the worst he’s had lately.” But the lows were lower every month. One of Randi’s good days now was probably equivalent to his worst days two years ago.

Two years. It felt like a very long time to Stef, but it wasn’t long at all, really, for a man who was younger than Vanyel – hard to believe, looking at Randi now – and should have had his whole life ahead of him.

It wasn’t fair. “I hate it,” Stef said, glaring at the fire crackling in the hearth. “It’s not right.” 

“No, it isn’t.” Vanyel’s voice was low, and sounded far away. “Doesn’t seem the gods ever intended the world to be fair. You know that more than most, Stef.”

“I know, I’m not stupid.” There was a current of bitterness under his words that Stef was tempted to prod at, but he left it alone.

“You’re doing more than enough,” Vanyel said. “I’m serious, Stef. You’ve given him back so much.”

The praise should have warmed him, but it didn’t. _It doesn’t feel like enough._

An odd thought, because it wasn’t like he owed his Gift to Randi, or to anyone. But his friend Jisa’s papa was suffering, and he saw how it ate at her. It galled him, when she came to him for comfort, that there was no scheme or plot he could devise that would make her problem go away.

And he _liked_ Randi. The King was intelligent, dedicated, and treated Stef like an adult – even asking his advice, sometimes, when a meeting or audience had just ended. He was very good at his job, at least insofar as Stef was qualified to judge, which made it seem all the more unfair.

“Does knowing you’re ‘doing enough’ ever make you feel better about it?” he said, a little waspishly. “If the problem’s still there?”

Vanyel swayed back in his chair. “…No. It’s a failing a lot of Heralds have, feeling overly guilty and blaming ourselves for not being more than human.” His eyes went unfocused for a moment. “And my Companions claims I’m a particularly bad culprit there, which is probably true. I would have hoped you would be spared that, Stef. Bards are supposed to be more sensible about that kind of thing.”

Stef dragged a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t say I feel guilty. That would be silly. It’s not my fault. Just… I don’t have to like it, do I?”

Vanyel’s eyes turned, piercing quicksilver, somehow smiling and sad at the same time. “No. Sometimes it’s not anyone’s fault, and it’s still a tragedy.” He glanced away, hands tightening around his cup. “Sometimes something is broken in the world, and it hurts to see it, but I wouldn’t ever tell you to look away.”

An obscure pang in his chest. It was the sort of conversation Stef couldn’t imagine ever having with anyone else, not even Medren. Not even Jisa – gods, _definitely_ not Jisa. She would be all sanctimonious about it.

“He’s captured your loyalty, hasn’t he?” Vanyel’s lips tugged into a crooked smile. “Can’t imagine that’s an easy thing to do, but that’s Randi for you. He can make anyone willing to follow him to the ends of the earth.”

Stef hadn’t thought about it that way at all. He wriggled his shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable and not sure why. “Randi does a pretty good job ruling Valdemar, and I happen to live here. I should want him around as long as possible.”

Vanyel chuckled. “A very practical way to look at it. I do like that about you, Stef. You cut right past all the lies we tell ourselves.”

 _Stop saying sweet poetic things about me._ It really, really wasn’t making it any easier to be good and keep his distance.

So much of what Vanyel had said to him, in the privacy of his room, would have been sanctimonious coming from anyone else, even Randi. It was different, though. Vanyel had used blood-magic on the battlefield, to end a war, and Medren would probably think he was absolutely insane if Stef confessed that it made him feel safer around the man, but it did. _He’s trying to win. He won’t let rules stop him._

And the gameboard he played on… There was something huge, that Stef knew he had only glimpsed the edges of. It wouldn’t go over well if he tried to pry, so he hadn’t, but it bothered him. _I hate not knowing._

“Copper for your thoughts?”

Stef opened his mouth to say something flippant, and then stopped. “You do as well,” he said. “Cut through lies, I mean, straight to what actually counts. More than most Heralds.” _Why do I always end up telling him everything that’s on my mind?_

Vanyel nodded slowly. It was hard to read his expression, he had gone still and shuttered in that way he did sometimes, but Stef didn’t think he was upset. “You’re talking about Sunhame.”

He ducked his head, feeling his cheeks grow hot. Vanyel was remarkably good at guessing what he was thinking. “Yes. I mean, everyone was so angry, but that wasn’t really fair. They weren’t the ones meant to be singlehandedly winning a war.”

A breath released. “Thank you for your vote of confidence, Stef.” Vanyel’s voice was dry, almost amused. “Hmm. Could you show me that new chord progression now?”

Changing the subject, but Stef didn’t mind. “I’d be delighted to.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update this week, in order to be less frustrating and get to the exciting stuff. Make sure not to skip ch12! 
> 
> Also, the delightful Magic's Prawn has another update: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24300682/chapters/58578634

The grey drizzle had cleared, at least for the moment, and honey-yellow sunlight streamed in through the windows. The Council meeting-room felt substantially less full than usual. Which was bizarre, given that it was the day of the spring festival and Karis sat next to Randi in full cloth-of-gold regalia, but nothing especially contentious had been on today’s agenda, nor any major votes. Vanyel wondered if some of the lords hadn’t decided to enjoy the nice weather instead.

 _I wish I had that option._ Vanyel could have used a relaxing ride with Yfandes before the inevitable private meeting with Karis, when he would have to make some attempt to explain where he and Leareth were. No wonder the Council meeting was going so uneventfully – there wasn’t much to cover, Randi’s attention and preparation had been almost entirely on the controversial items that would only come out later, in private, Herald-only meetings. The long-delayed conversation of whether to tell the Council about a certain immortal mage in the north was on that secret agenda.

Vanyel wanted, desperately, to ask for another year. Another ten years. If he had one wish… _If wishes were fishes we’d never go hungry._

Tran was looking at him. “Herald Vanyel?” _:Border-defences:_ he prompted.

 _:Sorry, I was woolgathering:_ Vanyel nodded, and scraped his chair back. “As you can see, in the north we have–”

**–PAIN–**

Vanyel, distantly, felt himself falling forward, in the instant before everything blanked.

_– His eyes burned – a giant hand closed itself around his chest, as his lungs caught fire –_

He found himself facedown on the desk, unable to breathe, desperately trying to orient against the screaming chaos in his mind. _Center and ground._ Shield.

Someone was shaking him, trying to rouse him.

“Van!”

“Gods, is he breathing–”

“Did someone Gate nearby?”

“No, it’s not that–”

One of the cacophony of worried voices belonged to his father. Overlaying it was the Web-alarm, louder and more urgent than he had ever felt before. Close. He reached towards it – and a frantic, wordless Mindtouch flailed against his shields. _:!!!:_

 _:Sandra?:_ he sent, fighting for control.

_:Help!:_

And then the faltering link slipped entirely, and Vanyel tried to reach for her and couldn’t. Focus on the alarm instead, it had to be related–

_Oh. No._

Years ago, he had helped Sandra set alarms on her alchemy-room. Now, every single one of them was blaring, and he couldn’t find her mind anymore.

“Van!” Someone, no, two people, grabbed his shoulders and lifted him from the table, depositing him in a chair. Treven and his father, he realized a moment later. He was aware enough of his surroundings now to at least _try_ to hold himself upright.

“Van! Look at me.” Treven’s hands steadied his shoulders. “Van, hey, can you–”

Try to find his balance; the chair seemed to be moving under him. “Sandra’s in trouble, I have to–”

 _Get to the Heralds’ wing,_ he had been about to say – somehow, he wasn’t sure he could _stand_ right now – but he wasn’t given time to finish. A long, tawny-and-cream-furred form snaked across the table, amber-gold eyes fixed on him. Sola. The Suncat had never approached him before, though Lissa claimed that the creature sometimes played with her when she and Karis were alone.

 _:Hang on:_ a husky female voice whispered in his mind, as the cat butted up against his chest.

–And the Council room vanished.

Vanyel staggered, catching himself on the edge of a table just before his knees gave, swallowing against sudden nausea. _What?_ He was, impossibly, in Sandra’s living-room. At least he thought so; the walls were swimming in his vision.

 _:Chosen!:_ Yfandes reached for him, belatedly. _:What–:_

 _:Sandra’s in trouble. Get Savil, I’m…:_ Rather than explaining, even at the speed of thought it was too slow, he opened his mind fully to her, sharing his eyes.

_:How did you–:_

_:Sola Fetched me here:_ Or something. It had felt almost like a Gate – no pain, but Gates didn’t really hurt these days when he was prepared for it, and the disorientation was even worse. _:Busy now. Get help:_

Sandra’s quarters were deceptively quiet, but they would be; the door to her workshop was closed, the shielding on it would dampen any sound. Even if she was screaming in pain on the other side. It must have been fifteen or twenty seconds since the alarm, and the Web was still blaring in his mind.

He sent a wordless query into the Web. _:?:_

Information poured into his mind, more than he wanted, overwhelming. But enough. On the other side of that sealed door, fumes poured out from – something, the Web couldn’t quite ‘see’ well enough to zero in on what. Corrosive, destructive; the Web could sense how they ate away at the glass windows–

Thirty seconds had passed. When he reached in with Thoughtsensing, pushing against the resistance of the room-shields, he could just barely feel Sandra, unconscious, shields down, her mind a haze of agony.

But alive.

 _What happened?_ For all the setup they had done, her room wasn’t the place to work with dangerous substances, and Sandra should have known that. The still-room at the Healer’s Collegium had adequate ventilation against accidents–

Maybe she hadn’t wanted to go to Healers’. She had been spending enough time there during Kilchas’ slow convalescence, and he knew the atmosphere got to her.

No time to spare with guessing-games. _She’s dying in there._ Vanyel flung his Farsight forward – and could hardly See anything, the room was completely full of opaque silver-grey smoke. He didn’t have time to clear it out, but if he opened the door, it was going to end up everywhere.

He did know Sandra’s work area well. Move his mental ‘eye’ forwards until he found the window. Fetching, he thought. Reach out with a _twist,_ then a clumsy wind-spell, that ought to take care of the worst of it.

 _:Chosen!:_ Yfandes protested, but he was already reaching for the doorknob.

–Fumes poured out, still thick despite his attempt to clear the room out first, and Vanyel clamped his eyes and mouth shut. Damn it, he should have gotten in a good breath first. Too late for second thoughts. He shoved through the door, blindly stumbling towards where his Thoughtsensing told him there was a person. His face was already burning.

Forty seconds?

He tripped on something unseen and fell, sprawling, landing hard – it knocked the breath from him. He clamped a hand to his mouth, frantically trying not to breathe in, and crawled forward until his fingertips met something soft and yielding.

 _:Van!:_ Yfandes’ mindvoice was panicky, too loud in his head.

 _:Just a minute!:_ He had his hands around Sandra’s shoulders now, and he strained with his weak Healing, trying to find her center and establish a link, even as he tried to stand – no, never mind, easier to stay on his bottom and shuffle backwards, dragging her with him. Put more power into the wind-spell, clear the air…

Even with his eyes pressed shut, he saw darker black spots dancing against the red-brown. His limbs were very heavy, hands going numb.

_:Chosen, don’t–:_

But he couldn’t hold his breath a moment longer. Involuntarily, he sucked in a gulp – and succumbed to a fit of coughing, fire blooming in his chest.

Never mind. It was only a few yards to the door, he could stay conscious that long, and he grasped Sandra’s tunic and fought across the floor, flailing, until his hands felt the threshold.

Hammering in the distance. _:Vanyel?:_ Not Yfandes, this time – the Mindtouch was tentative, and a moment later he recognized it as belonging to Katri, one of the newer-graduated Heralds who lived in this block. _:Do you need–:_

 _:Help! Get a Healer! HURRY!:_ Ignoring the molten agony of his throat and lungs, Vanyel laid his fingers on Sandra’s forehead, and Reached again, prodding around at her fading life-energies, trying to find her center. Focus. Block out the feeling of suffocation, how his chest spasmed every time he tried to draw breath. Sandra was the first priority, and he was losing her.

There was a crash, and running footsteps. Shouted words. Someone was coughing.

“That way – get the garden door open, we need air–”

Finally, he managed to establish an unstable link, and he pushed through his own energy. What little he had; whatever Sola had done had drained him. And whatever had happened before it; the Web had conveyed the shock of Sandra’s injury to him, somehow, along with the alarm.

_:Here, Chosen:_

Vanyel sent wordless gratitude and accepted the energy-link, feeding it through himself directly to Sandra. Someone was shouting his name, but he held up a hand and didn’t even try to answer. Even with the link he had to her, he could feel Sandra’s aura fading, collapsing on itself. His Healing-Gift just wasn’t enough – he had the energy to spare, with Yfandes helping, but it was like trying to pour a waterfall through the eye of a needle. Too slow.

 _:Van, are you all right?:_ Joshel’s mindvoice, and Vanyel caught a glimpse of soggy flowerbeds rushing past – the young Seneschal’s Herald was clearly midway through sprinting over from the central Council wing.

_:I’ve got Sandra, she’s alive but she needs–:_

More running footsteps. Another mind brushed his, the familiar golden-brown of Andrel’s aura.

The relief washed over him. _:Here:_ Vanyel sent, _:I have a link–:_

 _:I’ve got it:_ He felt Andrel’s stronger Gift overlaying his, taking over smoothly. Then another mind, a Healer he didn’t recognize. He still hadn’t dared open his eyes; even after the half-second of smoke in his face, they were stinging, tears leaking out from under closed eyelids, and he very much didn’t want to end up blinded.

He released the link and slumped back, gasping. 

_:Steady:_ Yfandes sent. _:They’ve got it handled. Just relax and catch your breath:_

Easier said than done. His throat was raw as sandpaper, and every breath he attempted ended in a fit of coughing.

“Van!” Hands on his shoulders, dragging him back. “They’ve,they’ve got this, son, are you, all right–” Withen, sounding incredibly out of breath, which wasn’t surprising, given that he must have beat Joshel here from the Council room. _How is he still so fit?_

Vanyel’s thoughts trailed off into another painful spasm. For all his efforts to force air in and out, it felt like he was drowning.

 _:Stay calm:_ Yfandes’ mindvoice rang through him. _:Don’t panic. I’m here:_

“Let’s get you some fresh air.” Father pulled Vanyel’s arm over his shoulder and lifted him, as easily as though he was a child, half-dragging him across the floor. Eyes still shut, he couldn’t see the contours of the garden-door room around him – Kilchas and Sandra’s master bedroom, now – but the light through his eyelids changed, brightening, and it somehow felt like he could sense those familiar walls.

_‘Lendel._

No time to be caught up in memories. Father was thumping his back, which wasn’t helping at _all_ , but Vanyel couldn’t manage to speak enough to tell him to stop. His limbs were leaden, and except for the fire in his chest, he was so cold…

–He sagged, and felt Withen supporting his shoulders, then slapping at his cheek. “Son, hang on, I’ve got you – hey! Healer! Can we get some help over here!”

 _I’m fine,_ he tried to say, but another fit of coughing foiled him. He tasted blood.

“What’s wrong?” The voice belonged to Joshel.

“Seems he breathed in a good lungful of that awful smoke,” Father was saying. He stifled a coughing fit of his own. “He’s in a bad way. We need a Healer!”

“They can’t hear you, they’re in a meld.”

“Well, get another Healer, then!”

“Someone’s on the way, Lord Ashkevron. We’ll make sure he’s all right.” A moment later, Vanyel felt Joshel’s double-tap on his shields. _:Van, are you managing?:_

_:I can’t breathe–:_

Joshel’s voice was level, forcibly calm. “Help’s on the way. We’ll get him to the House of Healing–”

“I can do that.” And Father was there, scooping Vanyel into his arms and lifting him. _You’re going to throw your back out,_ Vanyel wanted to say, but words definitely weren’t happening right now.

“All right, someone will meet you on the way.” Joshel sounded distracted. “You’re sure you don’t need–”

Withen had already broken into a run. Vanyel was bouncing a little, but it wasn’t too uncomfortable; he could stay limp, his back and knees supported, head against his father’s shoulder. “Did you hear that, son?” Father’s voice in his ear, breathless, tense and worried. “Help’s coming. And I’m here.”

He sounded so concerned, it made Vanyel want to laugh.

 _:Chosen, it’s not funny:_ Yfandes’ mindvoice was just as anxious.

Sunlight blazed through his closed eyelids.

_:’Fandes, why’s he being such a mother-hen–:_

_:Because he cares about you, and you’re scaring him. And me! Damn it, Van, why were you so careless?:_

He had almost been too late as it was. Or maybe he had been too late. _:Sandra…:_

 _:I know:_ She softened. _:But she’s got four Healers in a meld working on her, and more on the way. You did all you could:_

 _:Sola:_ There was a well of confusion there – he hadn’t known the Suncat could do that, and why hadn’t she ever used it before, why had she chosen this precise moment to help? But he was already losing hold of it.

 _:Worry about it later:_ Yfandes’ mindvoice was tart, and he sensed that she was coming closer. _:Focus on not dying:_

 _:’Fandes, stop panicking:_ Trying to reassure himself as much as her; he was getting some air now, no longer on the verge of passing out, but it was costing a great deal of effort. And pain.

“Healer!” Father shouted, not addressed at him but far too close to his ear.

“Vanyel, what in hells have you done to yourself this time–” Gemma’s voice. Dragged out of bed for the emergency, he thought vaguely, she usually worked nights.

“Room full of fumes, he breathed–” Father broke off, coughing as well.

Vanyel flailed out with a Mindtouch. _:Alchemy accident. Sandra:_

 _:I heard:_ “Lord Ashkevron, please slow down! Let me – good.” He felt her fingers brush his forehead, and a moment later, the touch of her Gift. The urge to cough vanished. His chest still hurt, a lot, but his lungs were no longer spasming on every breath. The relief was amazing.

 _:Thank you:_ he managed.

_:You’re welcome. Hang in there, all right?:_

* * *

_Oh, gods, Van–_

Savil stumbled forward as her brother burst through the doors of the House of Healing at a dead run, crimson-faced and panting, her nephew cradled in his arms.

She hadn’t been in the Council meeting, her presence was redundant, and so she had been finishing up some mage-work from the Web-focus room. Behind thorough shields, and she had been deep enough in trance that it had taken a minute for Kellan to get her attention.

The Death Bell had yet to ring, meaning Sandra was still alive. That was all she knew. Kellan had suggested she go straight to the House of Healing, and she had only beaten Withen there by thirty seconds.

“Van–” she started.

“Out of our way, please.” Gemma caught up a moment later. “Lord Ashkevron, this way – here. Sandra gets priority for the shielded room, unfortunately, if they can stabilize her enough to move her.” Her voice was slightly breathless but otherwise very calm, in that eerie way Healers had. “Savil, temporary shielding, please.”

 _Pull yourself together, Herald._ Gemma wasn’t terse like this except in emergencies. “I’ll do my best.” Her attention was fixed on Vanyel, as Withen pushed through the door and carefully set him down on the empty, neatly made cot. Van was conscious, holding up his head, but his eyes were clenched shut and he was ashy-pale under the blotchy redness that covered his cheeks like sunburn. Someone had unlaced his tunic and loosened the neck of his shirt, and she could see how he strained with all the muscles in his chest for each rapid, shallow breath.

Withen met her eyes with a tight nod, looking just as worried as she felt.

_Damn it, Van, what were you thinking?_

Really, she ought to wonder what _Sandra_ had been thinking, messing around with dangerous substances with no backup. Joshel had found the cause quickly enough – a pot of something, shattered and fallen into the fire. An accident, but the kind that only happened when one was careless, and that wasn’t like Sandra, her desk might be a disaster but she never forgot safety precautions.

“No,” Gemma snapped, “don’t lay him flat. Lord Ashkevron, please hold him up while we find pillows, he’ll breathe easier.”

Withen, rather than objecting to being ordered around, nodded meekly and inserted himself at the head of the bed, supporting Vanyel’s back against his knee, speaking in a low murmur. “Son, hang in there. The Healer’s going to look after you.”

Hearing her brother be so solicitous was unnerving. Savil wasn’t sure Vanyel was even hearing the words; he seemed entirely locked into himself, and he was wheezing audibly with each breath now, that couldn’t be good.

 _:Van?:_ she tried, but her Mindtouch skidded against his shields; he wasn’t picking up his end of the link.

 _:He’s in full rapport with Yfandes right now:_ Kellan sent. _:He does know you’re here, and it’s comforting:_

“Gemma?” A trainee in pale green robes hovered by the door.

“Pass that here,” Gemma barked, holding out her hand. The girl quickly crossed the room, and Gemma snatched the quartz focus dangling from a leather thong. Savil recognized one of the air-of-life talismans that, gods, Sandra had been the one to design and build years ago.

“Here, Van. Deep breaths, all right?” Gemma cupped the artifact between her hands for a moment, eyes going out of focus, and then darted in and slipped it over his head, the crystal settling at the base of his throat.

He didn’t seem to notice, but Savil thought that his breathing might have eased, a bit of colour returning to his face.

“Teva, pillows.” Gemma turned her gaze on Savil. _:Get a move on those shields, please. If he panics and starts projecting, he’ll hit this whole corridor:_

 _:Right:_ Savil closed her eyes, raised her hands, and slammed together the hastiest shielding she could manage. Sloppy work, but she had put in more power than it really needed, and it ought to–

Gods! Something had just occurred to her, that she should have thought of ten minutes ago. _:Kellan! Did anyone tell Shavri?:_

_:She was in the Council meeting, I’m sure she saw–:_

Based on Joshel’s fragmentary Mindspeech report, it sounded like she would have seen Vanyel collapse, then be snatched by a Suncat and vanish. Hardly informative. _:I don’t mean about Sandra, I mean Van:_

 _:Oh. Right. I’ll check:_ A pause. _:No, probably not. She’s in the meld working on Sandra:_

Which meant they couldn’t interrupt her. Sandra probably did need her attention more, anyway – but gods, Savil would have felt better if Shavri was there.

Gemma nudged Withen to the side, taking Vanyel’s hand in hers and slapping his cheek gently. “Van, hey. Focus on me. I need you to try harder on those deep breaths, you’re not moving enough air.” A pause. “It’s safe to open your eyes now.”

Vanyel’s eyelids flickered open, eyes bloodshot around the silver irises. He blinked hard, half-focusing on Savil’s face, and his lips moved.

“Don’t try to speak,” Gemma said firmly. “Can you tell us how you’re doing with Mindspeech?” Her expression went blank for a moment, then she grunted. _:Savil, you try? You’ve got more rapport. See if you can help him calm down a bit:_

Savil nodded, closing her eyes. _:Van:_ she tried again, forcing her way through, putting as much effort as she could into holding the link steady.

 _:Savil, it really hurts–:_ His eyes clung to hers, nostrils fluttering with every laboured breath, and his arm flailed convulsively in her direction.

She grasped his hand between both of hers. _:Just try to relax:_ she sent, a moment before he lost his end of the link again.

Withen, to her surprise, wasn’t shouting. His lips had gone very white, eyes wide, but he was still propping up Vanyel’s shoulders, his hands steady.

“We could use a Projective Empath,” Gemma started. “Teva, run along for me and see if we’ve got anyone around. Goddamnit but it’d be convenient if Jisa was around today.” A pause. “Savil, actually, can you Mindtouch her and ask her to come?”

Savil stared. “Are you sure? She’s only–” Thirteen, she had been about to say.

“Do it now.” Gemma reached out with a Mindtouch as well, still very calm. _:I’m worried. He isn’t breathing very efficiently. Reassuring words aren’t getting through. He’ll get through it if we can repair some of the damage in the next few minutes, before he tires himself out, but I can’t set up a proper Healing-meld unless he’s in trance, and for that I need him to stop panicking already:_

_:Can’t you use your Gift to knock him out?:_

_:I can if I must. Last resort. Putting him under will suppress some of the drive to breathe, and I need him making that effort. Much better if we get him calm enough to work with us:_ A pause. _:No time to argue. Just get her in here:_

Savil closed her eyes again. Center and ground, open, reach.

 _:Shavri’s on her way:_ Kellan interrupted before she was able to actually find Jisa. _:Sandra’s stabilized enough to move, they broke the meld to transport her, and we passed on that Van’s in trouble as well. I’ll ask her to bring Jisa:_

 _:Thank you:_ Savil let out her breath in a gust.

 _:Steady, Chosen:_ Kellan added. _:Be a rock. We’ll get through this:_

* * *

“Stef, slow down!” Medren shouted after him. “Wait! What in all hells–”

“Van’s in trouble!”

“How could you possibly–”

“I just know!" 

Stef was already panting. More than he should have been, he had only been sprinting for thirty seconds, but his chest ached and his legs felt weighted.

Nothing compared to the searing alarm-cry tugging at his chest. He didn’t know _how_ he knew, but Vanyel needed him. Now. Urgently. And it was too damned far from Bardic to anywhere else.

“Where are you even going?” Medren said, finally catching up.

–Stef hadn’t thought that far ahead. He was going _somewhere,_ it was like a string pulling him and he hadn’t even thought to wonder how he knew. But the direction… “Healers’!” he gasped, suddenly sure.

“You think he’s hurt?”

Stef didn’t bother to answer; he saved his breath for running. There was some kind of commotion happening in his peripheral vision, a cluster of white uniforms, but he ignored it. Not important.

Finally, it felt like about a decade later, he stumbled up to the main doors of the House of Healing. Which were propped wide open, for some reason, though he didn’t see anyone at all in the central station.

“See, there’s no one–”

Stef ran ahead, his eyes fixed on a particular door. He didn’t know how he knew, but he slammed against it, banging on the wood, too out of breath even to shout.

–It occurred to him a moment later that if he was imagining things, and it _wasn’t_ Vanyel behind that door, this was about to be one of the most embarrassing moments of his life.

“Jisa, is that–” The door opened, and Stef almost fell into the green-robed Healers’ arms. “Stef?” Gemma said, shock and relief in her round, motherly face. “Who thought to call you? Because they’re a genius and I’m an idiot. Come in.” She dragged him across the threshold by a fistful of his tunic.

 _What?_ Stef only had a moment to spare for confusion, because Vanyel was there, eyes locking onto him from across the room, his face a mask of effort and pain. Savil was on one side, and Lord Ashkevron was supporting him upright.

_What happened?_

It didn’t, actually, matter. Stef crossed the room in four strides, and Vanyel’s free hand reached for him like a drowning man clutching for support, grasping his fingers hard enough to hurt, and he didn’t care at all. Stef’s throat was parched from sprinting outside but he sucked in a breath, and croaked a note, just enough to reach for his Gift and throw it at Van with all his strength.

Vanyel went limp, sagging back into his father’s arms. He blinked at the ceiling for a few moments, and then sense came back into his eyes, and he lifted his head, turning to look at Gemma, breathing still laboured but already slower and deeper.

The look of incredible relief and gratitude that Lord Ashkevron aimed at Stef could have melted the heart of a hardened soldier. Which was bizarre, coming from the gruff older man. Vanyel’s father was unfortunately immune to Bardic charm, and Stef had never managed to befriend him like he had Lady Treesa.

“Good! Much better.” Gemma patted Stef’s shoulder. “Stef, lad, excellent work. Keep at it, please. Havens know he needs it more than Sandra.” Her eyes slid past him, relegating his existence to furniture. “Van, I’d like to jump in a Healing-Meld and I want you helping. You up for that?”

Stef liked the way Gemma talked to her patients, he decided. _Not_ like they were five years old. He closed his eyes, sliding away from it. His voice wasn’t cooperating very well – it wasn’t just being out of breath, he was _scared_ , and it wasn’t like stage fright where he could talk himself down from it, Van’s _life_ was in danger. Still, he didn’t need to sound _good_ for this. He could have screeched like a cat and still put his Gift into it. Not that he was going to, because that would be humiliating – bad enough that Medren was going to overhear him singing completely out of key.

He would have asked his roommate to go back for his lute, but it didn’t seem like Vanyel wanted to give back his hand.

“Gemma, you needed us?” Stef surfaced enough to glimpse Shavri standing in the doorway, disheveled and sweaty.

And Jisa, slipping past her mother. She froze, staring at him as though she had seen a ghost.

 _What,_ Stef tried to say with raised eyebrows alone, he couldn’t stop singing to ask what had got into her.

Jisa boggled for a few moments longer, then seemed to shake herself. “Gemma, you wanted me projecting?”

Gemma glanced at Stef. “Little redundant now, but figure it won’t hurt. Just help your Uncle Van stay calm for the Healing-Meld.”

Jisa made a funny face, but nodded. “Right. Can I just come sit here…?”

* * *

Randi squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and opened them. _Come on. Focus._

“Sola,” Karis said, stroking the Suncat’s fur. Her dark eyes were intent. “Is there something you wish to tell us?”

The tawny-furred cat was curled in her lap, licking one paw. _:Such as what?:_

She had included Randi in the Mindspeech as well, so he answered. “I, for one, would like an explanation of what just happened,” he said. His voice came out very level, somewhat to his surprise, because inside he didn’t feel calm at all. _I feel like I’m sliding down a cliff._

They were back in the oasis that was his suite. It had been about two candlemarks since the frantic moments in the Council room, and they finally had an approximate picture of what had happened – which wasn’t reassuring at all. It sounded like Vanyel was mostly out of danger, but Sandra was still clinging on by a thread.

Needless to say, it didn’t seem like any of their scheduled meetings were going to be happening. _Damn it all to high hells, why now?_

 _:It’s bloody obvious, I would say:_ An irritated mental grunt. _:Your Herald-Mage was being an idiot about safety precautions:_

Randi folded his arms. “No, I mean the part where you, er, instantly transported Van across the Palace.”

 _:Oh. That:_ The husky mindvoice seemed deliberately casual. Sola set down the paw she had been grooming, and turned to lick he shoulder. _:I jumped:_

“You ‘jumped’,” Randi said flatly.

“Oh.” Karis’ voice was odd. “That is what it means.”

“What?”

Her brows beetled. “There is a description in our texts of the powers of Suncats. We have not seen one in generations, and I had thought perhaps it was mere legend.”

 _:Mere legend indeed!:_ By the flattening of her ears, Sola was a little offended. _:It’s similar to Fetching – actually, more closely related to Gating, but externally resembles Fetching:_

“I do not suppose,” Karis said slowly, “that you might tell us of any other Gifts you are keeping to yourself? Why have you not used this power before?”

 _:I have. Obviously. How do you think I get in and out of locked rooms?:_ A mental huff of impatience. _:Bringing one of you folk along is quite tiring, so it’s for emergencies only:_ Sola arced her back, stretching, and butted her head against Karis’ chin. _:All right, all right. The rest of the legend is true. I can call fire, I have something like mage-gift, and if there are two of us, we can Gate:_

Randi rubbed his forehead. “That would have been very good to know, before. Er, is there another of your kind around?”

Sola just looked at him, in that unblinking cat way.

He sighed. “Well, now we know. Sorry about this, Karis. Unfortunately it seems like we’re going to need to postpone some of our decisions until after this is dealt with.”

“It is not your fault.” She reached for his shoulder. “You are worried.”

“Obviously I’m worried.” The sick, shaky fear had receded at little, once Tran passed on the message that Van was stabilized. He had Stef with him, and Shavri was working on Sandra along with pretty much all the senior Healers in Haven. Which left Randi in quite a lot of pain, but he couldn’t begrudge it.

“I might lose one of my six remaining mages,” he said dully. “Van’s out of commission again. And Kilchas still isn’t well enough for combat.” The man was finally off bedrest, but he couldn’t even walk the full length of the hallway at Healers’ without suffering pains in his chest. Savil was the only uninjured mage left above Master-potential, and she was seventy-seven.

“I understand.” Karis’ eyes drifted to the window. The sunlight streaming in seemed incongruous, Randi thought – it felt like days had passed, but it was still only midway through the afternoon. “Do you think it so urgent, that we decide?” she went on.

He closed his eyes. “I don’t know. Leareth seems content to keep talking to Van, and it’s not like we ever told _him_ the one-year timeline – we certainly hope he never guessed the reason for it. Still, I’m dubious that we can ever consider allying with him, given that he hasn’t budged at all on his godawful plan, and meanwhile he’s got to be preparing his forces. And we aren’t, because I haven’t told my Council. I’m not sure it’s wise to given him more time to get ahead.” Incredible, that he could talk about it so calmly, now. That he could think about it at all, really, but it seemed it was possible to get used to anything.

“You still have not found the pass?”

Randi shook his head. “I hoped we would by now. Vanyel’s view of the mountains is from the other side of it, though, which makes it less than helpful in narrowing down where to look on _our_ side. It could be anywhere in a two hundred mile stretch. We might have found it already if I’d been willing to brief the entire Guard and sent out searchers, but that’s a rather irreversible decision, and I haven’t. Vanyel has been checking with Farsight for the last six months – it seems he can manage it from Haven after the Web-expansion – and he doesn’t see any activity, but Leareth would guess that he’s looking, I think, and stage somewhere not easily in view. Assuming his Farsight is even reliable for this purpose.”

A soft sound. “Are you ready for war?”

“A lot readier than we were for the last one.” Randi let his fingers tap on the sofa-arm. “The recent annexations were a good excuse to recruit heavily for the Guard, and we’ve had plenty of volunteers – seems it’s considered glamorous work, after the last war, which Keiran predicted. Lots of new songs of heroism and glory going around, and now that it’s peacetime, youngsters must figure it’s exciting without actually being dangerous.” Of course, it might not be peacetime for long. “We’ve got a standing army of around ten thousand, right now, including quite a lot of seasoned troops. The issue is mages.”

“Yes.” Karis’ eyes returned to his face. “I would offer you my Sunsguard, of course. And my priesthood, but we do not have many Adepts, nor experienced fighters.”

The priest-mages had been slowly rebuilding their ranks in the last six years, but that meant they were heavy on youngsters as well. Karis could offer him less than ten mages who would be of any use on a battlefield – and none of them would have the relevant experience working with the Guard. Or much experience at all.

Still, her non-magical troops would bring their forces to almost twenty thousand. Maybe, somehow, that would be enough.

* * *

Nothing hurt.

Drifting up from a pool of warm darkness, tugging at the fragments of memory – Savil’s white face, her hand around his as he struggled for every breath – for a moment Vanyel expected to open his eyes in the Shadow-Lover’s white realm. _Nothing else feels like this._ But no.

 _:Van:_ A familiar mindvoice, that it took him a moment to place as Gemma. _:Van, hey. Come back now:_

He seemed to be in a bed, his head and shoulders propped up at a half-sitting angle, and he was exhausted, his whole body heavy and limp with it. It still took noticeable effort to breathe.

But no pain.

Someone was still holding his hand, and there was a voice in his ear, a clear tenor, crooning a wordless lullaby-like tune. It seemed to wrap around him like a warm bath, rocking him in gentle waves, still obscurely reminding him of how it had felt to rest in the Shadow-Lover’s arms. Safe. He felt _good_.

So this was what Stef’s Gift felt like at full power. Gods, he was a little jealous of Randi now.

He remembered it now – the incredible, soaring relief when Stef had stumbled into the room and opened his mouth to sing. He had gone into trance, at Gemma’s request, adding his minor Healing-Gift to the meld; evidently at some point they had decided to put him under after all.

He opened his eyes, blinking at the light; for a moment he couldn’t see anything except blurry rainbows. “Wh…?” His throat didn’t hurt, but it did _tickle_ , and he coughed.

“Don’t try to speak yet.” Gemma’s hand was on his forehead, cool and soothing. “We’ve Healed the worst of the damage, but this is all your body can handle for now. Can you manage Mindspeech?”

 _:Yes:_ He was incredibly drained, but with Gemma actually touching him, he could reach her.

“Good. How are you feeling?”

 _:Tired:_ A fresh moment of wonder. _:Doesn’t hurt:_ He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so relaxed or comfortable.

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” He could make out her face now, though still hazy and doubled, worried but smiling. “Stefen thinks he can keep it up for a few more candlemarks, which should get you through the worst of it.”

A fresh wash of gratitude – damn it but he was glad Stef was there.

 _:’Fandes?:_ he sent, or tried to. She wasn’t far, he could feel her light through a veil of shields with the familiar flavour of Savil’s work, but she wasn’t in the room, and even with all the rapport he had, he wasn’t sure he could project that far.

Apparently she had been listening out, though. _:Love, I’m so glad you’re all right:_ Her relief was palpable. _:It’s been about two candlemarks. Can you…? Here:_

He gratefully accepted the energy-link that she offered, and the room came into clearer focus. There were quite a lot of faces. Father was still there, standing all squished up against the wall, and Medren of all people was by the door. Stef was perched on the side of the cot, still holding his hand, face blank with trance as he sang – Vanyel was tempted to pull his hand away, Father surely didn’t approve, but it seemed like there wasn’t much point now, and maybe contact helped Stef work his Gift like it did for Empathy.

 _You just want an excuse to touch him,_ the quiet voice in him whispered.

Well, so what? Was it so wrong of him to crave that comfort?

Savil was there, and Jisa, and a whole knot of Healers and trainees behind Gemma. It was a little overwhelming; he was struggling to shield, without Yfandes nearby enough to really help, and he could almost feel the press of their minds on his skin.

Gemma followed his gaze. “Ah. Think we’ve got too many people here. Can I shoo some of you out?” She glanced around. “Jisa, Stef, you two stay. Van, would you like anyone else to stick around?”

 _:Savil:_ he sent immediately, and then paused. _:Unless Randi needs her, I guess:_

He must not have been directional with his Mindspeech, because she answered. “Of course I’ll stay, _ke’chara._ ”

“Reckon I should go, then.” Father unfolded himself from the wall. “Vanyel, son, take it easy. I’ll go tell your mother that you’re all right, she must be worried sick.”

Vanyel tried to smile reassuringly, and quickly reached out with his mind. _:Gemma, can you please not let my mother visit today? She’s exhausting:_

 _:Of course:_ “Let’s save the well-wishers for tomorrow. He needs to rest.”

Father nodded. “I understand. We’ll be thinking of you, son.” He started to nudge towards the door, and then paused. “Bard Stefen?”

Stef didn’t answer for a long moment, then opened his eyes, blinking. He didn’t stop singing, for which Vanyel was grateful, but he did turn to look at Withen, eyebrows raised.

Father clapped him on the shoulder, his jaw working. “I can’t – I don’t have words to thank you, lad.” His face was turning red again, a vein pulsing in his forehead. Vanyel’s unshielded Empathy was picking up a waft of embarrassment – well, Father did know of Stef’s reputation, it was hard to imagine anyone in the Palace didn’t at this point. It probably galled him to feel so grateful towards someone who wasn’t only shaych, but refused to be discreet about it at all.

Stef just nodded and turned back to Vanyel, his smile seeming to warm the entire room. Like the whole world falling into alignment.

It wasn’t until he was lying back against the pillows, minutes later, that Vanyel thought to ask the obvious question. _:’Fandes, did Sandra–:_

 _:She’s alive. For now. It’s touch and go whether she’ll survive the night:_ Worry and pain. _:Her Shonsea is with her, but she’s in a bad way too. The shock was hard on her:_

Vanyel closed his eyes. It was strange, feeling tears come with no prickle or sting. _:How is Kilchas taking it?:_

_:He’s distraught. They’re letting him sit with her:_

He ought to go offer some kind of comfort, though it was unclear what he could possibly say–

 _:You will not:_ Yfandes sent, her mindvoice tart. _:Chosen, you’re staying right where you are. I’m sorry, love. I wish I could be in there with you:_

In the new wing, even the standard rooms had doors that were big enough to fit a Companion, if not comfortably, but he was in the older core. It was the first time he had been a patient here and not in the shielded room, but the angle of the window looked familiar – maybe he had kept Shavri company in this room once, when she was a trainee on night shifts and he had insomnia.

 _:They wanted you near the center station:_ Yfandes sent. _:Once you’re a little more stable, maybe they’ll let you move:_ She sent a wash of affection. _:Rest now, love:_


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Dawn crept in fingers between the curtains, brushing the edge of the blanket.

Jisa lifted her face from the covers and yawned, knuckling at her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she had actually fallen asleep – she had been trying valiantly not to, watching the first pale light filter in, but her head had felt so heavy, she had decided to set it down just for a moment. Now she was cold and there was a crick in her neck.

It had been the longest night of her life. Thoroughly worn out, Vanyel had dozed uneasily during the afternoon and evening, jolted awake every few minutes when he inevitably started coughing again, hacking up bloody slime – Jisa had found that alarming even though Gemma kept telling her not to worry. He had finally fallen asleep properly sometime in the early hours of the morning. Stef had still been singing to him at that point, well, whisper-singing. Medren had brought his lute over so he could give his voice a break, but he had played his fingers raw by midnight, at which point it was still hurting Vanyel to cough or take deep breaths. Gemma had tried to shoo Stef off to bed anyway, but he had refused.

Jisa had a suspicion about why.

The room was silent now. Savil appeared to have dozed off, sitting on a cushion on the floor with her head against the wall and her legs splayed straight out. Stef was fast asleep as well, draped sideways over his chair like a cat.

With one hand still covering Vanyel’s.

_Do they know?_

Jisa glanced around. _:Oh. Heya, Nali:_

The young Healing-trainee nodded to her. _:Morning, Jisa:_

 _:How is he?:_ Vanyel’s cheeks were flushed, beads of sweat on his forehead, and his breathing was still a bit laboured, but he looked comfortable enough. The air-of-life talisman was still around his neck. Savil had been re-powering it at regular intervals throughout the endless afternoon, evening, and night.

Nali smiled. _:Better, though he is running a fever. I would wake him to give him willowbark, but Gemma said he needs sleep more:_

Jisa nodded. _:Thank you for taking care of him:_ She stood up, carefully silent.

 _:Going to bed?:_ Nali sent. _:Sleep well:_

Jisa wasn’t sure she would be able to sleep anytime soon, not after what she had seen. She had been considering whether she ought to tell anyone, like her mother, or Melody. In fact, she had really been hoping her teacher would visit at some point and confirm – but at the same time, it wasn’t clear to her whether this piece of news was hers to share.

Well, it was hardly an emergency. She had time to think about it. Melody was likely to visit at some point and figure it out for herself anyway.

Jisa paused in the doorway and turned back for a moment, watching the two sleeping figures. Let her Sight open, the world unfurling like a flower. Two minds, quiet and still in sleep – and rising from the empty pit at the center of Vanyel’s mind, where there had been nothingness before, there was…something like a seedling tree. A gnarly twisted pine, she thought, one of the kind she had read about, where the seeds only sprouted after a fire. There were still cracks all around the edges of the pit, and yet underneath she could see the roots spreading, just starting to grow into where they were supposed to be. Stretching and tearing some of the existing structures in the process, the tight weave of old patterns, his and not-his, that had held his mind steady with no foundation for over a decade.

The roots reached down and down, toward…something else. Someone else.

It was harder to See in Stef’s mind, still all hedgerow-walls, but she caught a glimpse of his tree, roots wrapped around the same center.

Two shapes, two gardens, that had always been meant to fit together, and she hadn’t ever seen it until now.

She was outside on the path, on her way back to their rooms, when she nearly ran headlong into someone. Squinting against the bright sunlight, and already half-asleep on her feet, she hadn’t seen him coming.

“Treven?” she said blankly. “What are you–”

He caught her shoulders, steadying her. “Jisa, are you all right? You look pale.”

“I w-w-was up all night. With my Uncle Van.” Another yawn escaped.

“Oh.” Concern in Treven’s blue eyes. “How is he?”

“Fine.” She didn’t feel like going into detail.

“You’re going home to sleep now, I hope.” He offered his arm. “May I walk you there?”

“Thank you, that’d be nice.” She was drowsy enough that she might manage to fall on her face otherwise.

Treven didn’t try to make conversation along the way, but it felt companionable anyway. The suite was locked, and when she got out her key and unbolted the door, dark and silent inside. Mother was either with Papa, or still at the House of Healing.

Jisa leaned on the sideboard, swaying. She really ought to fall into bed already, but it felt lonely without Mother there, and she found she didn’t want Treven to go.

He must have noticed. “Would you like me to make you up some hot milk before I go? I imagine you missed supper.”

“Th-th-that would be lovely.” She sagged down onto the sofa.

He bustled to light a fire in the hearth. There was something soothing about watching him do practical things, Jisa thought vaguely, his movements smooth and capable and efficient, no wasted motion.

“There, I’ve put it on.” He came over and sat beside her – and, after a hesitation, reached out and took her hand. “I’m glad you were there for him. Your father was so worried.”

She was tired enough that for a second that confused her, Vanyel was her father and Randi was her papa, but of course Treven didn’t know that.

“Is my papa all right?” she said. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning. It must’ve been hard to have Stef and Shavri both gone all night.”

Treven’s eyes were solemn on her. “I’m sure, but you’d never have guessed. He handles it so gracefully. I don’t know I could ever be that brave.”

Her eyes prickled. “You would be if you had to, Trev.” Her voice was slurring and it was hard to care.

“You’re shivering.” Treven reached for one of the knitted throw-blankets and draped it over her, and then, to her surprise, he put his long arm around her shoulders. “Better?”

“Mmm.” It was nice. Surprisingly so. “Trev, what happened yesterday? Did they cancel the Court reception?” She felt so behind. Somehow she had entirely forgotten that she had been expecting to spend last night at the spring festivities.

“Pretty much, I think it still happened but none of the Heralds went. And they postponed all the meetings. Karis is still here, though. She might stay longer until things are sorted.” He frowned. “I’m still not invited to the secret meetings, so I don’t know what they were going to talk about, but it seems your father thinks it’s very important, and that Vanyel needs to be there.”

It was about the Problem, Jisa thought, spine tensing. And Trev hadn’t been told either.

“Hey.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Jisa, it’s going to be all right.”

He thought she was just worried about Van and Sandra. Still, his comfort was real. “Glad you’re here,” she mumbled.

He shifted. “I’ll get you the milk.”

It was incredibly hard to stay awake, but she was thirsty, and she didn’t want Treven to go. Jisa wrapped her hands around the mug and sipped, feeling the heat of it spiral down into her belly. 

Maybe guessing that she wanted to be distracted, he went on speaking, filling her in on what had been going on outside the House of Healing. Jisa was only half paying attention; the rest of her was floating, somewhere warm and pillowy and dark.

Finally, she set the mug down and leaned into his shoulder. “Trev… Stay?”

His arms tightened around her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” She closed her eyes.

* * *

Wind _howling above a steep-walled passage, carved into the mountainside–_

_He stood with his hand on the pommel of Yfandes’ saddle, feet placed carefully on the narrow goat-track, leaning to peer around the edge of a stone crag. Staring in horror at what lay below._

_No, he thought, no no no. But it was distant – there was a cold resignation there, a weight settling in his chest. Almost peaceful. So this was how it was going to end._

_Behind him, Tylendel was there, and there was no choice. Vanyel had to tell him to split off for the nearest Guard-post. There were surely Thoughtsensers below, and Mindspeech at range would be detected. One of them needed to ride for help – and one of them needed to stay, and fight, and he knew it had to be him. A single mage might hold that army at the mouth of the pass for some time, but if they crossed through into the northern forest, there would be no stopping them._

_He started to turn–_

(Vanyel drifted to awareness inside the dream, his thoughts catching on the reflexive confusion. It was different, this time – before, it had always skipped to the part where he was already below, standing at the northern lip of the pass itself, facing Leareth and his army. This was earlier; it was the part he always remembered, in that strange way of dreams, and he might have dreamed it a few times in the early days, but never since the conversations had begun.)

_He stopped, mid-motion. :Yfandes?: he tried._

(It wasn’t her mind that he touched – it seemed that her body was represented, but she wasn’t in the dream with him. But it really did feel like there was someone standing beside him. No. Not just ‘someone’. Like Tylendel specifically was there at his side.)

(It felt like being lifebonded again.)

(He was afraid to turn, afraid of what he was going to see, but he had to know.)

_He turned._

_“Stef?” he hissed._

(The young Bard looked a little older, here, and even thinner, his chin sharper and cheekbones more defined. He was unshaven, a faint rime of strawberry-blond stubble around his jawline. Vanyel had the sense that he himself would look haggard and scruffy as well, if he ever saw his own reflection in the dream – his clothing, when he bothered to pay attention to it, was certainly just as travel-worn as Stef’s ragged cloak.)

_Stef blinked, as though waking from a daze, and his hazel eyes widened. He glanced around, almost wildly, one hand going to tug at his hair. “Van? Where are we?” Teeth chattering, he wrapped his cloak more thoroughly around his body. “How did we get here? And why is it the godforsaken middle of winter again? It was spring literally a minute ago.”_

(That nailed it. Stef, unlike Yfandes, was actually in the dream. Somehow. It made zero sense – there was something he was missing, he could feel it like a blind spot in his vision, gaping and vague. Well, he could worry about it later. He was on a deadline right now.) 

_“Quieter,” he whispered, gesturing at the army below. “Please.” He grabbed Stef’s sleeve. “Get back.”_

(He doubted any of the figures below were real, and probably they were far enough up that Leareth hadn’t spotted them, but he couldn’t be sure of that.)

_“What? Why?” Stef let himself be pulled behind the bluff, though, and he did lower his voice._

_“You’re in my dream,” Vanyel said tightly, still dragging him along. “Keep following me, we need to get down from here. I can’t explain right now, but you have to go. Right now. We’ll get to the bottom of this track, and then you get on Yfandes and ride.” The not-Yfandes was picking her way along the winding track after them._

_“Where?” Stef looked bewildered. “…Oh. Wait. Guard-post, get help.” He made a face. “How do I even know that?”_

(Additional confirmation that this was really Stef, Vanyel thought bitterly – no one else could possibly throw that many questions at him so quickly.)

_Stef was hugging himself. “I’m serious, it’s goddamned freezing.”_

_“You’ll survive.” They had reached the bottom of the goat-trail, and a slightly wider and flatter path led down the snow-blanketed slope. Vanyel grunted with impatience, then grabbed Stef around the waist and tried his best to lift him._

_“Hey!” At least he kept his voice lowered._

_“You need to get out of here.” Finally, Vanyel managed to wrestle Stef into the not-Yfandes’ saddle. “Just go.”_

_Clinging awkwardly to the pommel, Stef glared down at him. “Not until you explain.”_

_Vanyel groaned and clapped one half-numb hand to his forehead. “Stef. Fine. I swear, I’ll explain everything. Later. Right now, I’m about to talk to someone, and you absolutely can’t be here in five minutes. Just go.”_

_“I think I might actually freeze to death.”_

_“You can’t freeze to death. It’s a dream.” Stef was in fact shivering hard, though, and Vanyel felt a pang of sympathy. “All right, I’ll put a heat-spell on your cloak. Better?”_

_Stef nodded, but his face was still mutinous._

_“Then go, and just keep riding until you wake up.”_

_Stef glowered at him. “And how long, exactly, am I going to be riding by myself in a creepy forest in someone else’s dream?”_

_“I’m not sure. From my perspective it usually feels like it takes somewhere between fifteen minutes and a candlemark, but you know how time is in dreams.” He sighed. “Stef, I’m really sorry about this. Please go, and I’ll make it up to you.”_

_Stef’s eyes bored into him, a dozen expressions flickering across his face – confusion, calculation, satisfaction. “I’m holding you to that,” he said._

_Yfandes turned, and galloped away._

_Alone, Vanyel dragged a hand over his face._

(No time to think now – he needed to reach the mouth of the pass as soon as possible. And then somehow find his composure again, and try to talk to Leareth about maths without giving anything away. Come to think of it, would Leareth have ‘woken’ in the dream at the same moment he did? If so, he was going to be extremely suspicious about the new ten minutes of waiting, plus or minus Vanyel actually fighting some of his minor mages first, which had happened in some of the earliest iterations.)

_By the time he reached the place where the original path branched up and above the new passage, the distant, icy calm of the dream had settled in place. He stepped into the shadow of the opening, glassy-obsidian walls swallowing him._

(He had never approached it this way before. It stretched ahead of him, a half-mile or so long, just wide enough to fit several ranks of cavalry abreast, perfectly straight, the floor as level as the paving-stones in the Palace courtyard. The height of the walls above was uneven, cutting straight through the once-jagged mountain, but at the deepest point, they stretched at least fifty yards above his head. It was crushing in its scale.)

_He stood at the northern tip of the pass, looking out at the army he had to stop, and the black-clad mage at its head._

(Good – this wasn’t a variation where he had to fight anyone else. He wasn’t sure he could have handled any more suspense.)

_He took a step forward, holding up a hand–_

_Something shifted behind Leareth’s black eyes; awareness and presence, that hadn’t been there before. He nodded, unsmiling. “Herald Vanyel.”_

_“Leareth.” He started to walk._

(There was nothing out of the ordinary in Leareth’s expression or manner, that he could see, and Vanyel thought he was doing a reasonable job of keeping his own face controlled. The answer was just not to think about it until later, but he was distracted, struggling to remember where he and Leareth had last left off.)

_They settled inside their snow-walled hut, and Leareth lifted his hand to the wall. “Did you have any questions from the previous time?”_

(Maybe it was better to give some explanation – Leareth was going to notice something was off. He would be fine once they got going, he thought; Leareth’s lectures were always captivating.)

_Vanyel smiled ruefully. “I’m a little distracted, sorry. Busy time of year. Could we just pick up again, and I’ll ask when I’m confused?”_

_“Of course, your Karsite Queen visits at the spring festival.” Leareth seemed unsurprised. “I would start with discussion of some more specifics for the initial stages.” A thin smile. “Heartstones offer an interesting point of comparison, and you know more of this art than I.”_

(And that was it, he was drawn in. Somehow it had never occurred to him before, but of course, it should have been an obvious analogy. He had noticed himself that Heartstones had some basic intelligence and volition, more than ordinary magic alone could build, and he and Leareth had even discussed the fact that lore said they carried fragments of the Star-Eyed Goddess – and, in fact, he had as good as confirmed this, by using the Valdemaran Heartstone at the center of the Web, far from the Tayledras or Shin’a’in territory that was the Star-Eyed’s purview, to speak to Her directly. Had he explained that connection to Leareth? He couldn’t remember, but he didn’t think he had gotten around to it.)

_“I can see some similarities,” Vanyel said. “I’m curious to hear you describe the differences.”_

_A fractional nod. “I will speak first of some overlap that may not be obvious. A Heartstone is, among other things, a container, and one with considerable adaptability and internal regulation. Unlike raw node-energy, the power within a Heartstone is both protected against access by anyone not keyed to it or working from within the sanctum itself, and also offers a…surface, I might say…to which set-spells may be linked. This is of interest because a prerequisite to the earliest stage of the god-kernel is to shape such a container.” Another smile flickers, showing in Leareth’s eyes though not quite reaching his lips. “Had I access to a live Heartstone, and a cooperative Adept keyed to it, I could dispense with a number of the other steps and precautions, as well as decrease the power requirements.”_

_Vanyel could only blink at him; his brain still wasn’t moving fast enough to generate a response._

_“Of course,” Leareth went on dryly, “I do not, and will not. Moving on to differences. The simplest is that, by my estimation, all Heartstones, in terms of their internal complexity and the limited ‘mind’ and ‘will’ they possess, are copies off an existing mold – one, I think, offered by the Star-Eyed Goddess directly rather than built at the hands of Tayledras Adepts. Heartstones are like beings in some ways, but I suspect they do not have all of the components of even human consciousness. You, however, would know more.”_

(Vanyel was quite used to Leareth’s muted range of expression, but it was especially obvious in contrast with Stef’s recent wild-eyed gesticulating, and – no, think about Stef later, he had more important things to focus on. How much could he safely say…?)

_“I agree,” he said. “They store information, that’s sort of like having memories, and they have awareness of a sort, I think, but it’s very alien. I’m not sure they really have goals or wants, much less self-awareness.”_

_“That is what I would predict.” A hint of satisfaction in Leareth’s black eyes, though he didn’t smile. “They are limited entities, built to serve a highly specific purpose, and thus very unlike what we wish to create.”_

_“Right.” Vanyel held up a hand. “Let me see if I can guess where you’re going with this. The initial infant form of your god will be comparable to a Heartstone in, er, total size or power or intelligence, whatever measure even makes sense there. But with its own values and goals, so a bit more humanlike in some ways. But…I imagine it’ll still be alien in many of the ways that a Heartstone is? If it has access to god-Foresight,” which he thought Heartstones must, “and has to contend with swimming in bits of the future as well as the present. That has implications for the mind-structure needed.”_

(Heartstones almost certainly drew on something like the blue place, he had guessed, though in a weird way – he had vaguely theorized that this was where Moondance’s odd visions and gut-feelings came from, since it seemed awfully inefficient for the Star-Eyed to personally intervene each time. She was more hand’s-on than, say, the mysterious god behind the Shadow-Lover’s facade, but it still seemed as though mostly she worked indirectly through the Heartstones and the _leshy’a Kal’enedral._ Who…had some unsettling similarities to Companions, that the Shin’a’in had commented on. Vanyel still didn’t know how to think about that, and what it implied for whether Yfandes was truly free of the binding she had torn out of her mind in order to come back to him at all.)

_Leareth’s lips shifted into the faintest of smiles; he was pleased, Vanyel thought. “Yes. That is a true and interesting point of similarity. In fact, it is another reason why a Heartstone stands as a good example – and would make a good leaping-point, were that possible. That part of the internal structure might be kept. In fact, imprinting a god-mind onto a Heartstone it is even simpler than it might otherwise be, because a Heartstone lacks its own true goal-structure to replace. This is of theoretical interest only, of course, but it can serve to check our intuitions of what would need to be built anew in order to cast the first stages safely…”_

* * *

“Did you get any sleep, love?” Randi said, laying his hand over hers.

Shavri nodded, smiling wanly. She hadn’t, actually – she had been in the shielded room with Sandra all night – but she had Need with her, and she felt…fine. They were in her quarters – it was the first time in months that Randi had been there at all, but it was a lot closer to the House of Healing, and Shavri, maybe out of unnecessary paranoia, didn’t want to be further than a two-minute sprint away. Randi had wanted to come down anyway, to visit the two injured Herald-Mages, though Sandra was still deeply unconscious and Van was finally managing to get some sleep.

“How are you doing?” she said. “I’ve neglected you.”

“No, no. Shavri, you had exactly the right priorities. You’re a Healer. One of the best we have.”

When he smiled at her like that, it brought out an echo of how he had looked five years ago, before his illness had prematurely aged him. He was thirty-one, and looked sixty.

“Sandra,” he said. “Is she…?”

“I think she’ll survive,” Shavri said dully, “but, gods, it’s going to be rough. We had to give up on even trying to save her eyes – there was just too much critical damage we needed to prioritize. And her lungs are going to be badly scarred. That’s going to affect her forever.”

“She won’t be able to fight.”

Of course that was what he jumped to. Shavri closed her eyes. “No. Not for a long time. Maybe ever.”

“And her mind? Her Gifts?”

She turned away. “I don’t know. I mean, there’s no reason to expect damage there in particular, but there were candlemarks at a stretch when we were barely keeping her heart beating. That’s going to take a toll.”

“I understand.” A beat of silence. “How about Van?”

“Oh, he’s going to be fine.” Shavri managed a weak smile. “Gemma said he’s bouncing back even faster than she expected. He only got about half a breath of the stuff, and he had the sense to keep his eyes shut. And having Stef there… It made a huge difference. I think – I hope – he would have pulled through either way, but it would have been a miserable time. As it is, I’m sure he’s quite irritated to be stuck in bed, but after the first few minutes, he hasn’t been in any pain. He’s sleeping right now.”

Randi nodded sagely. “Well, then I really can’t begrudge the lad’s time.”

A Mindtouch tapped at her shields, startling her. _:Shavri?:_

 _:Savil?:_ The older Herald-Mage had been fast asleep on the floor of her nephew’s room when Shavri had poked her head in. _:What is it?:_

 _:Are you with Randi?:_ Tension in the overtones.

_:Yes, but in my quarters–:_

_:I’ll be there in a minute. Need to talk to him:_ Just as abruptly, she dropped the connection.

Shavri dragged a hand over her matted curls. “Seems Savil wants to meet with you. She’s headed this way.”

“Oh.” Randi rubbed his eyes. “Sure.”

It was, in fact, less than two minutes later that Shavri felt Savil’s mind coming, just before she heard the knock on the door. _:It’s unlocked, come in:_

Savil joined them at the table, gingerly lowering herself into a chair. Her Whites were rumpled, silver hair escaping from her bun in wisps, and based on her puffy eyes and stiff movements, she had just woken up. Despite her age, Savil had never looked frail to her before, but she did right now.

“Randi,” Savil said flatly. “I just had a very unpleasant thought?”

His brow creased. “What is it?”

“In less than six months, we’ve lost one of our remaining Herald-Mages, and two more very nearly died and are out of commission – in fact, we’d have lost Sandra for sure if not for Sola’s timeline intervention.” Savil pressed her palms to the table, hard enough that her knuckles whitened; Shavri saw that her shoulders were trembling. “You know the saying. It’s starting to feel an awful lot like enemy action.”

Randi blinked. “But Kilchas and Sandra–”

“I know. It looks like natural causes. Just, doesn’t it feel a bit suspicious to you? Convenient, for a certain someone?”

 _:Savil:_ Shavri interrupted. _:Can we please not talk about this out loud when my daughter is asleep right behind that door?:_ She had arrived to find Jisa bedded down on the sofa, a blanket over her – and, to her surprise, a note from Treven on the sideboard, politely letting her know that he had walked Jisa back at dawn and made sure she had something to eat and drink. He was always such a sweet lad. Shavri had managed to wake her daughter just enough to guide her to her bedroom – Jisa was far too heavy to carry now – and had sat with her and stroked her hair until she nodded off again, which had taken under a minute.

 _I’m so proud of you, sweet._ Based on Gemma’s report, she had handled the situation with admirable maturity. _At least one of us could be there._ She had dashed over when she could to check on him, but Sandra’s condition had been a lot more dire.

 _:Sorry:_ Savil turned back to Randi, but included both of them in the link. _:You’re right, they don’t look like murders, but – I was thinking. What if Sandra isn’t the one who spilled the chemicals on the fire? Or maybe it was her, but she was under compulsion:_

 _:Wouldn’t you have detected–:_ Randi started. He was struggling a bit with Mindspeech; he didn’t have as much existing rapport with Savil.

_:Not if a Mindhealer did it. That wouldn’t leave any magical traces – only another Mindhealer would be able to see it:_

_:What about Kilchas?:_ Shavri interjected. _:If you’re going to say a Healer could have stopped his heart, I’m pretty sure Sandra would have noticed someone else up there:_

 _:No:_ Savil shook her head. _:I’m not sure. Still, it seems his bad heart came on very quickly. Could a Healer have accelerated that?:_

She hadn’t considered that. _:Not all at once. One of the major vessels was almost entirely blocked – oh:_ Like a punch to the gut. _:It was narrowed already, which happens to some people as they get older – it seems we spotted it on his last thorough checkup, two years back or so, and decided it wasn’t bad enough to be worth intervening – but it was a clot that lodged in there and set off the attack. I suppose a Healer could have irritated the lining of the vessel a bit further up, caused a clot to form, and it wouldn’t have done anything until it broke loose and ran into the narrowed spot:_ She narrowed her eyes. _:Theoretically. None of our Healers would ever do that, Shavri:_

The elderly Herald-Mage shook her head. _:Not one of ours. Just, we know that being mage-gifted hardly guarantees ethics. How is Healing-Gift any different?:_

_:You’re proposing a rogue Mindhealer as well, which seems awfully unlikely given how rare–:_

_:Stop:_ Randi lifted his hand. _:Savil. Thank you for bringing your suspicion to me. I’m inclined to think you are just being paranoid. Still, you’re right – it’s starting to look like a pattern:_

 _:Wouldn’t someone trying to kill off our mages go for Van first?:_ Shavri sent. _:I mean, even if I take your paranoid idea seriously, presumably they didn’t mean to hit him along with Sandra and that part was genuinely an accident:_

Savil’s blue eyes met hers, unblinking. _:Not if it’s Leareth’s work. He wouldn’t want to kill the only person he can negotiate with, if there’s even a chance of a peaceful outcome – but he might prefer to be safe than sorry, and take out our other combat mages in the meantime. Carefully, making it look natural, so we wouldn’t guess:_

It did sound awfully like something Leareth might do.

Randi bent forward, pinching the bridge of his nose. _:It still seems tenuous. I’m not sure how to even investigate an idea like this, Savil. But given the worry, we should definitely think about precautions:_

* * *

Vanyel snapped awake with a grunt. The bed he was in wasn’t his own, and for a moment he was entirely disoriented.

Something felt familiar, but he wasn’t sure what.

Someone had been sponging his forehead with a cool cloth. They stopped. “Oh! Van, sweet, are you awake? You poor thing, it looked like you were having a nightmare.”

The voice was Lady Treesa’s, and it hurt his head. He held up a hand, and she mercifully fell silent.

 _:’Fandes?:_ he tried.

 _:Chosen!:_ Her light flowed into his mind. _:How are you feeling?:_ There was something odd in her mindvoice, that he couldn’t put his finger on.

The conversation with Leareth was still at the forefront of his mind, but the rest was coming back now – the Council-meeting. Sola. Sandra’s suite. Right – he was in the House of Healing. Again, goddamnit. And apparently someone from day shift had let Mother in. 

_:Not too bad, actually:_ He felt feverish, and his throat hurt, but with the air-of-life talisman still around his neck, he could breathe without too much difficulty. Though there was definitely something rattling around in there. In about five seconds, someone was going to come tell him to breathe more deeply or cough again – they had been so obnoxious about it yesterday – and he wasn’t looking forward at all to trying it without painblocking.

Still, he could cope. Despite the physical discomfort, he felt…good. Maybe the odd cheerfulness was an aftereffect of Stef’s Gift.

Finally, he thought to check his shields. They were entirely down; Yfandes had been holding thin external shields on him, the best she could manage at a distance, at least that would have kept him from projecting the ice-dream at everyone.

Somewhere nearby, there was a muffled squeak.

He forced open gummy eyes. Stef had fallen asleep sprawled across his chair with his head flung back and mouth open. Now he was struggling upright, eyes wide – they lighted on Vanyel, and he started to smile, but it turned to a beetle-browed scowl about a second later. “Van–” he croak-whispered, barely audible, and then looked horrified, both hands going to his throat.

“Yes, you’ve lost your voice. Not sure what you were expecting. You sang for at least eight candlemarks nonstop yesterday. Want some tea?”

Vanyel followed the familiar voice. _:Shavri!:_

She stood up from her chair in the corner and crossed the room. “Good morning to you, too. Feeling better?”

“How did you–” Lady Treesa started.

“He’s using Mindspeech with me,” Shavri explained. “Van, don’t try to speak out loud yet, all right? Your throat is very irritated.”

 _:Wasn’t planning on it:_ He could barely swallow, and wasn’t sure he could make any sound at all. _:I am feeling better. What time is it?:_

 _:Candlemark to noon. We let you sleep in, figured you needed it:_ Concern creased her eyelids. _:Were you having nightmares? You did seem a bit restless:_

 _:Just talked to Leareth:_ And, damn it, he was already losing it, though at least it hadn’t been a maths-heavy discussion. What godawful timing. _:Can you all be quiet a minute so I can relay to Yfandes, please?:_ He hesitated. _:And, um, can you take my mother somewhere else for a bit? I don’t want to hurt her feelings, and I’ll probably want to see her later, but she’s so…:_ He couldn’t think of any way to describe it that wasn’t insulting. _:I just can’t right now:_

 _:Of course:_ Shavri spoke out loud. “Lady Treesa, Van has a headache and he needs quiet. Could I ask you to come back later?”

“I’m so sorry. Of course.” She rose, shaking out her skirts. “Van, I do hope you feel better. And, oh! Congratulations!”

He stared at her, hoping his raised eyebrows indicated the appropriate confusion.

“You and Stef.” She beamed at him. “I’m so happy for you!”

 _Oh, gods. I fell asleep holding hands with him, didn’t I?_ He couldn’t even speak to defend himself. Stef, he was relieved to see, was giving her exactly the same blank, shocked look, and Mother’s smile was starting to wilt, replaced by confusion.

–Focus. Debrief with Yfandes first, and then worry about Mother’s misconceptions. He was going to be lucky to remember any of the dream at this rate.

 _:One second:_ Shavri interjected, closing the door on Lady Treesa’s back. _:You really need to cough up some of that gunk, I can hear you rasping from here:_ She glanced over. “Stef, can I trouble you for about thirty seconds of pain-blocking?”

Stef, now splayed in the chair again, grimaced at her, tapped his throat, and then held out his hands. Vanyel winced; his fingertips were visibly raw, blood crusted where he had ripped through old calluses. _Stef, you didn’t have to–_

“Oh.” Shavri was making a sympathetic face. “We should get you some liniment for that. Hmm. Do you play the flute? I think we have a toy flute somewhere around for the littles.”

Stef rolled his eyes and mimed several gestures, that Vanyel thought translated as ‘yes, but very badly.’

“That’s fine. It really doesn’t need to be for long.”

* * *

Jisa huddled on her bed, frozen. Her parents were long gone from the suite, and her head ached with exhaustion, her eyes hot and itchy, but she didn’t feel as though she could sleep ever again.

Yet again, she really hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. It was the presence of an unexpected mind that had woken her.

 _I just had a very unpleasant thought,_ she had heard Savil say. _In less than six months, we’ve lost one of our remaining Herald-Mages, and two more very nearly died._

_You know the saying. It’s starting to feel an awful lot like enemy action._

_Doesn’t it feel a bit suspicious to you? Convenient, for a certain someone._

And they had fallen silent, almost certainly switching to shielded Mindspeech. The fact that any of it had happened out loud was probably a slip on Savil’s part, understandable given how tired she had to be.

It filled Jisa with cold, sick fear.

Someone was coming for their mages. Savil suspected a particular enemy, which meant it had to be related to the Problem.

There really was a pattern. Twenty years ago, before Jisa was born, there had been dozens of mages. Now there were six, and two were crippled.

What if they came for Vanyel next?

It was too horrifying to think about – but it would still be happening whether or not she looked at it.

And, yet again, it was something her parents weren’t going to tell her about. They would be furious if she confessed to having eavesdropped, even if it had been kind of their fault for talking out loud right there in her living-room. They would say she was too young. That it wasn’t her burden to bear yet. They wanted to protect her.

But it was still happening, and she couldn’t un-know it now.

 _You’re not the type to play with dolls when there are real problems in the world to be solved,_ Vanyel, her father, had said to her. _Even when it would be easier to pretend nothing was wrong._

What could she possibly do about it? She was only thirteen, and she wasn’t a mage, or a Herald. It felt like she had when she was little, pressing her nose to their window from the snowy garden outside to see if supper had arrived yet. On the outside looking in.

_You can’t walk away._

Vanyel had said that her Gift was rarer and more precious than even mage-gift, and maybe that had been true once but it wasn’t anymore. There were eight fully-trained Mindhealers in Valdemar, counting the new ones from the north, and four students including Jisa. Twice as many as the current number of Herald-Mages.

A whisper in the back of her mind: _you have the potential. You could still be a mage._ She had wished for it since she was a little girl – and until now, she had thought that she had accepted the lack.

She was too old for it to awaken naturally, of course, but sometimes people’s mage-gifts awakened when they were older, if very traumatic, frightening things happened to them.

_Is this frightening enough?_

Think about Vanyel dying. That was the scariest part of all, a well of darkness in the edges of her mind, and Jisa tried to stare right into it.

 _If I were a mage, I would be able to help,_ she repeated to herself, over and over.

A long time later, sweating and limp, she finally had to admit defeat. She hadn’t really expected it to work. If it was that easy, a lot more people would be mages.

Think. There had to be a way.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Cautiously, Vanyel swallowed another sip of broth. With Stef painblocking at about half strength – all he could reliably manage with the godawful tin-whistle Shavri had dug up for him from some toybox – it was just barely tolerable.

Stef kept shooting him meaningful looks, but it wasn’t like there was anything he could do about it. It was mid afternoon and they hadn’t been left alone at all yet, and even if he could somehow get the watchful Healing-trainee to duck out, neither of them could talk right now and Stef wasn’t a Mindspeaker. He tried to return the looks with expressions that said ‘later, I promise’, but there was only so much eyebrows could convey.

There hadn’t even been time to think over what had happened in the privacy of his own mind. He had told Yfandes about Stef’s sudden appearance in the dream, of course – briefly, before diving into what he had covered with Leareth – and asked if she had any ideas. She had promised to help him figure it out, but with an odd, almost smug caginess in her mindvoice that made him think she knew more than she was letting on. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone else yet, even Savil; for some reason, it felt very private.

He _wanted_ to tell Stef everything. It felt like he would understand – like the world would be just a little bit brighter and safer if only Stef could turn the flashing brilliance of his mind onto solving his conundrum. Which didn’t particularly make sense, but it still _felt_ true.

There was still something he was missing. It hung on the edges of his awareness, too vague too pin down.

–The tickle in his throat gave him only a second’s warning. Desperately holding in the cough that threatened, he looked around for a place to set down his broth, before he spilled it everywhere like the last time – and Stef was already there, before the Healing-trainee had time to move, taking the cup from his hands and offering a clean handkerchief, which Vanyel gratefully cupped to his mouth.

Coughing was still an ordeal; at least the phlegm he was bringing up now was only blood-tinged. Stef was playing the toy whistle one-handed, throwing power into it, and rubbing Vanyel’s back with the other hand.

The spasm finally ended and he slumped back against the pillows, drenched in sweat and thoroughly winded, the band of pressure behind his brow hinting at a headache barely held in check by Stef’s Gift. Stef took the soiled handkerchief from his limp hands, turned on the spot, and retrieved the wet cloth for his forehead.

Vanyel wasn’t trying to hold his Empathy open – in fact, he was taking pains to shield – but even so he could feel the young man’s attentive concern. Stef, rather surprisingly, was as solicitous as any of the Healers, and honestly he was better at it. Well, Bards were supposed to be perceptive. And, hmm, Stef had be using his Bardic Gift along with painblocking – that would explain why, despite the gravity of the situation, Vanyel still felt so unusually relaxed and cheerful.

More than that – he was almost euphoric.

–A stumble in his thoughts. _No, that isn’t right._ What wasn’t he seeing?

In the back of his mind, he could feel Yfandes silent, smug presence. Whatever it was, she knew. And wasn’t telling. Damned Companions.

He closed his eyes and tried to drive in on the niggling confusion. The biggest loose piece was that Stef had appeared in the ice dream. It made no _sense_. He wasn’t a Foreseer, not even in potential; Vanyel had checked as soon as he had the energy for it.

In the first moments of the dream, he had expected to see Tylendel there – and seen Stef in his place instead.

It had felt like being lifebonded again.

 _Oh, gods._ His mind was fumbling against the enormity of it. It wasn’t possible…and he didn’t know how he had missed it for so long. It wasn’t his Empathy picking up on Stef’s feelings, and it wasn’t the young man’s Gift holding back the void that had lurked in the back of his mind for eighteen years.

It was impossible.

 _:’Fandes:_ he sent sharply, accusatory. _:You knew:_

 _:For the last day, anyway:_ A wash of affection. _:Before, I only suspected:_

_:Why didn’t you tell me?:_

_:I thought it was better for you to work it out on your own:_

The music had stopped, and his chest and head were aching again, but tolerably. Vanyel opened his eyes a crack, trying to be subtle about it. Stef had returned to his chair, sitting half-sideways with one leg swung over the arm and the other curled under him, sun haloing his red hair, his eyes vague with exhaustion over dark bags and the planes of his cheekbones even sharper than usual. He had set down the whistle across his lap and retrieved the cup of tea that one of the trainees had renewed a few minutes ago; it was propped on his knee at a slightly risky angle, his thin, wiry fingers loose on the handle.

Vanyel could have stared at him all day. Now that he was paying attention, he could _feel_ the place inside him where Stef was. A relentless, joyful song beating in his chest. He wanted to capture the rosy perfection of that moment and preserve it in amber forever.

The intensity of his feelings over recent months suddenly made a lot more sense. And no sense at all. He was lifebonded again, which wasn’t supposed to be possible, and to someone half his age. Surely that aspect ought to bother him.

 _:You didn’t do it on purpose:_ Yfandes prodded. _:Will you stop agonizing about it already? It is what it is. Trying to deny it is only going to make both of you miserable. Can’t you be happy about it?_

There was definite tartness in her mindvoice. He _wanted_ to be happy – he could feel his mind leaning towards it, to bask in the feeling of everything being right and perfect. And yet.

 _:You should tell him:_ Yfandes added.

 _:I know:_ He squeezed his eyes shut. _:But…not yet:_ His mind was still skidding away from it.

 _:I know. It’s a lot to absorb:_ Yfandes sent another wave of love along their bond, and quietly withdrew, leaving him alone with his seething thoughts.

* * *

“He seems to be doing well,” Treven said.

Jisa nodded. “I know. My Uncle Van always bounces back quickly. He’s got a bit of Healing-Gift.” She pressed her fingers flat against her trews, trying not to show that they were trembling.

In the end, despite feeling like she wouldn’t be able to sleep ever again, she had dozed off for another few candlemarks, waking when the afternoon sun started coming in through her west-facing window. She was bleary, but she had managed to sneak half a cup of chava at Healers’ without anyone noticing. Mother said she wasn’t old enough to drink the stuff – still, half the trainees drank it and some of them were younger than her.

It tasted like someone had tried to make tea out of fireplace-soot, but it had woken her up, even if it was making her horribly jittery.

Treven, to her surprise, had Mindtouched her a few minutes later. _Just want to make sure you’re all right._ And then he had asked if she had eaten yet, and she had said no, and he had offered to meet her at Healers’ and bring her something from the kitchen. They had eaten a picnic in the herb-garden out back – which had been surprisingly nice, in the bright spring sunlight – and then he had asked if she wanted to accompany him to visit Sandra and Vanyel.

Sandra was still unconscious, her breathing strained and halting, one of the senior Healers glued to her bedside. They had let her and Treven in, but shooed them out after less than a minute.

Vanyel, at least, looked worlds better than the day before. He had been asleep when they arrived, but one of the trainee Healers had woken him a few minutes later to drink some medicine, and he had greeted her with a drowsy smile. Stef, she was relieved to see, was still there, napping on a bedroll in the corner. Treven hadn’t said anything; he must have assumed he was staying nearby in case Van suddenly needed painblocking.

The new lifebond already looked deeper than it had that morning – and, from her brief peek, she thought Vanyel was aware of it now. He kept reaching for it. She wondered if Melody had found out and told him or if he had figured it out by himself.

It was late afternoon now, and they were in the herb-garden again, behind a shrubbery-wall. “Shouldn’t you go?” she said. “You must have meetings or something.”

Treven shook his head. “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be doing, honestly. It’s all a mess today. Your father is meeting privately with Queen Karis. I wasn’t invited.” He slid his blond tail of hair between his fingers, a nervous gesture she had never consciously noticed before, and she was suddenly very aware of how blue his eyes were. “I was hovering around Dara’s office trying to be useful,” he added, “but it seemed like I was mostly getting in the way, so I thought I would come make sure you were doing all right. This must all be very stressful for you.”

It was so weirdly considerate of him, Jisa didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t talk about the thing that was really on her mind, because she wasn’t sure whether he knew anything, much less the same things she did, and Papa had sworn her and Stef to secrecy. Besides, she doubted Treven would understand why she felt so guilty that she couldn’t figure out how to become a mage. Somehow she knew exactly what he would say. _You’re perfect the way you are, Jisa._

She had come up with another idea, in the vague drifting place between waking and sleep, and she had genuinely considered it for above five minutes before deciding it was the _worst_ plan and she wasn’t going to think about it ever again.

She realized she had been silent for a while, and Treven was looking at her, concerned. She tried to smile. “I’m fine, Trev. But thank you for checking in on me. It’s very thoughtful.”

He took her hands, long slim fingers engulfing hers. His palms were slightly rough with sword-calluses, and very warm, and it gave her a funny feeling. She had never noticed it before, but he had very nice nails for a boy.

“I care about you,” he said.

Jisa was confused. “Because I’m important to Randi?”

“No.” He almost sounded offended. “Because you’re _you_.”

A strange quiver in her stomach. “Trev…?” She lifted her eyes, uncertainly.

He was looking straight at her – straight into her mind, it seemed, though her shields were up, it felt like he saw everything in her. The fear. The guilt. The quiet determination – _I can’t walk away. I won’t._

Suddenly she couldn’t catch her breath. “Trev–” She longed for something, it was a pulling ache in her chest, but she had no idea what.

“Jisa.” His voice was odd, almost choked. “I want to, to kiss you, but I don’t know if–”

Oh. _That_ was what the feeling meant.

“Yes,” she whispered, and craned her head up towards his.

It was, she had to admit afterward, an incredibly awkward kiss. He was so much taller than her, he had to stoop like an old man, and their noses got in the way, and she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to breathe, and at one point their teeth banged together–

He pulled back, hands going to her shoulders. “Jisa. Oh, gods…” The sun was in his eyes, making him squint. “You’re so beautiful.”

“No I’m not.”

“Handsome, then.” His voice was dreamy. “Like an oak tree. Or a cliff in the sunset.”

Jisa, despite herself, giggled. She wasn’t sure how a person was supposed to look like either of those things.

“I don’t know if we should have done that.” But he pulled her into the circle of his arms anyway. “Jisa. I promise, everything’s going to be all right.”

 _You can’t promise that._ No one could, even if they were going to be King someday. Even her papa couldn’t fix the entire world.

And yet, somehow it still felt real.

* * *

Through the window, the horizon was fading from lavender-gold to deep purple.

For the first time since Sandra’s accident, Vanyel was alone.

Gemma had come in to assess him at shift change, and decided he didn’t need one-on-one care anymore, though one of the trainees had been ducking in to check on him frequently. He was definitely feeling better; his fever had broken, and coughing still hurt but it was bearable even without painblocking. He could whisper a few words, though it was more comfortable to use Mindspeech. His appetite was even making a reappearance, and despite his sore throat he had finished all the soup Gemma had brought him.

According to Yfandes, Sandra was improving a little as well, though she was still unconscious.

Stef was out. Gemma had talked him into going to bathe and change his clothes. He had been visibly reluctant, but had finally let himself be persuaded – and his departure had left Vanyel fighting down panic, clamping his shields into place and hoping that would keep Stef from getting a helping of his unwanted, entirely inappropriate feelings of abandonment. _No, stay, I need you._

It wasn’t like Stef owed him constant company. Or anything, really. Vanyel hadn’t found the courage to tell him about the lifebond yet, despite Yfandes’ repeated nagging; some part of him still balked at it. 

Stef was only sixteen. He didn’t deserve what was coming.

It hadn’t sunk in at first, when he had realized earlier in the day – he had still been groggy, feverish, in shock from the sudden awful events, and having Stef there at all had been so incredibly comforting. For so long, the only time he had been entirely free of pain was in the Shadow-Lover’s realm.

He was still grateful for that much – it was a precious gift – but there was a price, and he wasn’t at all sure it was one worth paying.

He already knew, had known for decades, that he was probably going to die. Soon. Based on the new information of Stef’s apparent age in the dream, they had at most a couple of years, but maybe that was long moot. The dream had never changed, even once Leareth knew he was coming and shifted his plans; it was fixed in the original scenario, which almost certainly wasn’t going to happen.

He might only have months. Hellfires, Randi might order him to ride north as soon as he was recovered enough. Or Leareth might make his own decision, and march on them tomorrow.

Somehow, knowing about Stef forced him to stare head-on into that choice. If Leareth forced their hand, now, without budging or compromising and without giving him time to learn more… Vanyel would have to kill him. _I can’t trust him yet. I don’t know for sure that his values are good, and I don’t know that his plan is safe._ He didn’t want to kill Leareth, the one person who had cared enough to try at all, but this was a case where the wrong person taking it on might be worse than no one trying at all. The downside was so horrifyingly bad that he couldn’t risk it.

What a goddamned waste. At least he had his notes on Leareth’s work, written in code – a minuscule fraction of everything the man had studied to make this possible, surely, but something. He could pass that on to someone else. He and Leareth might obliterate each other in a storm of fire, but maybe someone else could pick up the pieces.

The man was still immortal, he reminded himself. Unless he solved that mystery before the end, Leareth was very likely going to pop up later and try again.

No way of knowing, yet, how it would go. One thing was certain, though: Stef hadn’t asked to be a part of it, and it wasn’t fair to put that on his shoulders.

Lifebonds happened when the gods were meddling. Vanyel was so incredibly tired of being a pawn in their games. Worse, of the people he loved getting dragged into the middle of it. It was hard to tell what they even wanted to accomplish with this particular plot.

Was it a sort of consolation prize? Had one of the gods taken pity on him, and decided that he deserved a few more months of happiness before the end? If so, it was the worst possible gift they could have granted him. _I love him._ Not something he had chosen, maybe, but it was true anyway – and Stef had earned it, by being exactly who he was. A precious light in the world.

The last thing he wanted was to take Stef with him if and when he died. Every part of him flinched away from the thought.

Maybe that wasn’t the goal at all – maybe it was something even more twisty and obscure. Could it all have been just to pull Stef into the ice-dream and add one more pair of ears? If the gods thought that might make the difference between success and failure–

Still a monstrous nightmare, but not quite as horrifying as the version where some god just hadn’t wanted him to be sad, and had grotesquely mis-predicted how it would actually make him feel.

An echo of memory. _If you go back, the Shadow-Lover said, you will not always be alone. The feeling of something shifting. I know, but he had the sense that, somehow, the Shadow-Lover meant something different–_

It snapped into place. The Shadow-Lover had known, even then. Which made some sort of sense; a lifebond went deep, woven into the shape of a person’s mind from the beginning. Had Stef only ever been born at all, sixteen or seventeen years earlier, because the Shadow-Lover wanted to offer Vanyel that belated solace?

It wasn’t fair. It was so deeply, incredibly wrong.

And it might be too late to do anything about it. Stupid, that he hadn’t realized something odd was happening the day Stef returned to Haven – if he had, he could have arranged to have the young Bard sent away, or gone away himself, or just refused to speak to him. Something, anything, to avoid that bond forming in full. Surely ripping out a lifebond that was only partially-formed wouldn’t be as damaging…

It was far too late for might-have-beens.

–Maybe not. It was possible to unweave a Companion-bond; Delian had, when Taver had Chosen Tran. Maybe it wasn’t possible for _him_ to deliberately undo his bond with Stef, at this point, but a god…

He didn’t know for sure that it was the Shadow-Lover’s doing; it could have been the Star-Eyed, or some other god entirely; but it was a reasonable suspicion, given that first conversation. Valdemar was the Shadow-Lover’s dominion, and Stef’s birthplace.

Did he have any bargaining power at all to ask the Shadow-Lover to undo his work?

Maybe not, but he didn’t think he would ever forgive himself if he didn’t try. Besides, he had questions.

How was he going to…

Oh. That might work; it was worth a shot anyway. The question was how to do it safely – well, no, it wouldn’t be safe no matter what, but he didn’t have to be stupid about it.

He took a deep breath, and opened his shields. _:’Fandes:_

She must have picked up on the strange intensity in his mindvoice, though he sent only her name; she surged into his mind, and caught up in seconds. _:Oh. No. Chosen, no. Absolutely not:_

_:I have to know, ‘Fandes. I have to try:_

He didn’t want to. Words couldn’t describe how reluctant he was. He kept prodding at the new-rooted bond, awed that it didn’t hurt. More than just ‘didn’t hurt’ – it was wonderful. Choosing to go back to the old pain–

It was that, he reminded himself, or subject Stef to the same. Assuming the young man survived, which was doubtful. _I only tried at all because I had a mission._

 _:Don’t you think you should ask him what he wants?:_ Yfandes sent tartly.

There wasn’t any point. Stef was bonded to him already, and that meant it wasn’t a free choice at all. Maybe if it had been possible to go where he was going together, and let Stef make that choice freely, outside time…

That wasn’t on the table. It was unilateral action or nothing.

 _:Don’t:_ Yfandes pushed. _:Van, this is incredibly unfair to Stef. He deserves a say:_

Yes, it was unfair to him, even he could see that – but knowingly going to his death and tearing Stef’s life apart was even worse.

He felt Yfandes resisting with every fibre of her being, but she saw the same things he did, and she might disagree but she knew he wasn’t going to budge.

 _:I’ll tell Gemma:_ she sent, almost plaintively. _:Chosen, you can’t do this:_

 _:I can. And I’ll bar the door if I must. I won’t let you stop me:_ The words slipped out before he could think them over, and he felt Yfandes flinch away, horror and hurt – but he wasn’t going to take it back.

 _:Fine:_ she sent, resigned. _:This is a terrible idea, but I can’t stop you from being an idiot, so I might as well help you:_

* * *

Gemma was at the center station, sipping her chava and settling in for the night, when the frantic Mindtouch slammed into her shields. Not a human mind – this was blue and bright.

 _:’Fandes?:_ she reached back, confused, rising from her chair.

 _:Check on Van RIGHT NOW!:_ There was real panic in the overtones.

 _:What?:_ She was already in motion, though, breaking into a run.

“Gemma?” Andrel’s worried voice behind her.

She nearly slammed face first into the door, and skidded to a halt just in time to fumble with the knob. “Hold it right there, Andy, I might need–” She broke off, freezing.

_Oh, no._

“I need help!” she shouted, and dived across the threshold.

* * *

He was in a place of featureless white.

Nothing hurt. It was something of a relief, to abandon the niggling aches of his body, but the difference wasn’t nearly as stark as before. Stef’s hand gripping his had been even more comforting than the Shadow-Lover’s arms.

“Vanyel,” the Shadow-Lover said, blue eyes glinting from a hidden face. “You know, this is really not the way you’re supposed to do it.”

“I guess not.” He folded his arms. “Same choice?”

The shadowed face seemed to frown. “It would be fitting to deny it, given the circumstances.”

“You sent me back when I threw myself in the goddamned river.” Vanyel stared the Shadow-Lover down. For once, he genuinely felt as unruffled as Leareth seemed all the time. _There’s nothing you can do to me that doesn’t ruin your pretty plan._

It didn’t take a lot of Healing-energy to disrupt the heart rhythm, and he knew the technique. The only question had been whether his Gift would let him do it to himself, and he was glad and disturbed at the same time that the answer was apparently yes. Yfandes had started calling for help the instant he succeeded – which, it had turned out, was about five or ten seconds before he actually lost consciousness. His vision had faded to black, a mountain crushing his chest, but from a very long way off, he had actually heard Gemma’s shout for help as she wrenched open the door. Which meant that really, given how many strong Healers were within earshot, surely he ought to be fine with or without the Shadow-Lover’s intervention.

Vanyel felt a little guilty about diverting their attention from Sandra, but she was more stable now, and it wouldn’t be for long. He had deliberately drained the power from his air-of-life talisman, and taken it off, leaving it nearby in the bed – it wouldn’t take long for Savil to arrive and re-power it, and it would give the Healers a more ready explanation for what had happened.

“You have the same choice,” the Shadow-Lover said.

He tried not to sag visibly with relief. “Good. Thank you. Going back – er, in a while. Not yet.”

Concern in those sapphire eyes. “Is your life so hard to bear that you seek me out to rest here?”

Half-giddy with relief, Vanyel laughed despite himself. “No. That isn’t why.” He took a step forward. “I have questions. And concerns. And a request to make.”

The Shadow-Lover’s eyes never left his. “Yes?”

 _Don’t lose your courage._ There was no point in backing out now. “Eighteen years ago,” he said quietly, “you gave me a choice. Along with the information that was relevant needed to make it. You said if I went back, I wouldn’t always be alone.” He slid his hands down to rest on his hips. “You meant it, didn’t you? You had a plan – you flat-out created someone to be my lifebonded, to replace Tylendel, just the right shape to fill the void. All this time, he was out there. And you knew.” Here in the white place, he couldn’t quite muster anger, but there was a heat behind his eyes and in his throat. “Did you ever consider that it was a horrible thing to do? That making a person – a human being – just to be a pawn on your gameboard – knowing that if I die it will break him – did you ever consider how monstrous that is?” The tears in his eyes didn’t sting, but they were there all the same. “I know what a broken lifebond feels like. I don’t ever want anyone else to experience that. And now I might not have a choice but to do that to someone I love. How do you think I feel about that?”

The Shadow-Lover seemed unperturbed. “You always said that your Tylendel was worth it.”

“Maybe I was wrong.” He spat the words like daggers. “Or maybe it’s all right to make that choice for myself, but I could never, ever make it for someone else. You didn’t give Stef a chance to choose. I don’t know what you thought this would accomplish, but I’m going to give you a chance to set it right. If you have the power to undo a lifebond, trust me, it’s going to be better that way.”

Silence.

“You,” the Shadow-Lover said, “are very stubborn.”

He laughed bitterly. “Yes, that’s what gods tend to say about me. Anyway. Can you fix it?”

The Shadow-Lover shook his head, sapphire eyes holding love and sorrow. “No. I cannot undo a lifebond.”

Vanyel took another step forward, nose-to-nose with that unseen face. “Then I want to talk to someone who can. You’re a facet of a bigger god. I want to talk to Them.”

Which was a terrible idea, he already knew that much, but the words were said and he had no intention of taking them back.

“There is a reason I am the avatar who greets you here. Mortals are not built to speak to Them–”

“Don’t care. I’ll find a way.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and waited. As patiently as Leareth ever had. _I’ll wait forever if I need to._ Here, outside time, it wasn’t like he was in any rush.

Silence.

Finally, a deep nod, almost a bow. “If you insist.”

And the figure in Whites melted.

_– He was falling into light – blazing silver – inside out and backwards – nowhere to stand, only light – and then, for an instant, there was nothing at all –_

Vanyel was before a pillar that shone too brightly to look at, opalescent, swirling. Or maybe above, or below; he couldn’t tell. There was no up or down, no surface to stand on. It felt like he was still falling, tumbling towards that light, and it never grew any closer. He couldn’t feel his body at all, and wasn’t sure that he had one anymore, but somehow it still made him feel dizzy.

**YOU WISH TO SPEAK TO ME?**

It wasn’t a voice. It wasn’t, really, words at all. It seemed to vibrate through the structure of his mind, and he could feel the pattern that was him loosening, starting to unweave under the fury of that relentless light – but he could hold it together long enough.

He had no body, no lips or tongue to speak, but he was an open book, his mind laid bare, everything he had ever been and would ever be splayed out and transparent.

 _Yes,_ he thought, as clearly as he could. _What I just said to your Avatar. I want you to fix it._

**I WILL NOT.**

_Then I won’t do what you want._ Maybe he should have been afraid, but his body was too far away for emotion to be real.

**YOU WILL. YOU ARE A PATTERN THAT DOES NOT WALK AWAY.**

Calling his bluff. _Fine,_ he admitted. _I won’t walk away. Maybe I have no cards to bargain with, here. Can I beg your kindness instead? I don’t know if you thought it was going to help, but it really won’t._

**THE CHOICE IS NOT YOURS.**

Vanyel turned the words over in his mind. _No,_ he thought finally, _it’s not. But it’s not yours either, and you certainly didn’t give Stef a chance to choose. That isn’t fair._

**THE CHOICE WAS HIS, AND HE MADE IT.**

_That’s impossible,_ Vanyel thought vaguely. _He wasn’t born at the time._

**HE CHOSE TO RETURN. HE KNEW YOUR CHANCES WERE BETTER WITH HIM.**

–And it all slammed together in his mind, the last puzzle-pieces slipping together. He should have seen it a day ago. Or maybe years ago. The signs had surely been there.

Lifebonds. Two minds shaped for each other. There had already been a mind in the world with a shape fitted to his.

Spirits. A spirit wasn’t all that made up a person. But Taver’s spirit died and came back, over and over. Leareth’s spirit left his body, and somehow found another body, losing memories along the way but keeping the core. Yfandes had been human once.

Stef was Tylendel. Or built on the same kernel, anyway. Whatever a spirit even did, theirs was the same.

**YES.**

Somewhere, somehow – in the white place, the Shadow-Lover’s realm, all those years ago – he had made a choice. To come back.

**YES.**

_Did he know_ , Vanyel thought. _Did he know I was going to die fighting Leareth?_ When he had first spoken to the Shadow-Lover, which had to be around the time that Tylendel would have made a very similar choice, it had seemed nearly certain.

**HE KNEW WHAT HE NEEDED TO MAKE THE CHOICE.**

Which made sense – the Shadow-Lover had insisted on giving Vanyel all the relevant information, every time.

Falling endlessly into the pearly light, disembodied, he couldn’t manage to even feel surprised.

 _I talked to him once,_ he thought. It had been during the war; Stef would already have been alive at the time, perhaps seven or eight years old. What a weird thought. Had he dreamed it as well? Did he remember it?

In any case, it was no different now.

 _Let me speak to him,_ he thought. _I need to know for sure._

He had no cards to bargain with. No ground to stand on, and yet.

_Please. You owe me this one thing._

–And he was standing in the room with the garden door. Every candle was lit, and a fire burned in the hearth. Though the high window, dusky nebulas shone purple, mixing oddly with the warm firelight.

“Van.”

Tylendel sat cross-legged on their bed, exactly the position he had taken the last time around. His brown eyes looked black in the strange light.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” He patted the bed. “Come here, _ashke_.”

The same words, pitched with the same intonation – it was like a perfect copy of the same moment, preserved in amber.

Vanyel found himself walking forwards. This time, when their fingers touched, he didn’t throw himself into ‘Lendel’s arms, only held his hands, looking into his eyes.

Tylendel’s skin was warm; he felt alive.

“We don’t have much time–” ‘Lendel started.

“It’s fine. I think They’ll give us the time we need. And it won’t take long.” He stared into his once-lover’s face, as though trying to memorize every detail, which was pointless. _I never forgot._

Tylendel stared back at him, eyes full of naked confusion. “ _Ashke_? I don’t understand.” Tears welled. “I’m sorry! I made a mistake, I can’t ever make it up to you. I would understand, if you can’t forgive–”

“You don’t remember,” Vanyel interjected. “Do you? The last time we spoke?”

Blank incomprehension.

“Right.” A spirit wasn’t all that made up a person, and it wasn’t Stef he was talking to right now – it was ‘Lendel, his ‘Lendel, whatever fragment was left of him, minus a body and attendant brain full of memories.

He didn’t have the faintest idea how that worked. Which ought to have bothered him, all information was worth having – but, this one time, maybe the how or why wasn’t important at all.

Vanyel smiled sadly, and sat down on the side of the bed. “‘Lendel, please just hold me for a moment. I’ve missed you so, so much. And I need to ask you a question.”

A crease between his brows; a familiar expression he could have stared at forever. “What?”

Vanyel lifted his hand, traced the curve of ‘Lendel’s cheek. “You spoke to the Shadow-Lover. He gave you a choice. Do you remember that?”

A slow nod. The tears were spilling over now. “Ashke, I had to try…to make it up to you…even if it was unforgivable, what I did. He said the chances were better… But that I wouldn’t remember anything. I said it didn’t matter, I would keep searching, I would find you, no matter what it took–”

“You did.” He brushed a wispy golden curl back from ‘Lendel’s forehead. “You found me, _ashke_. And I forgave you a long time ago. Everything’s all right now.”

Dawning hope. “Really?”

“I promise.” He closed his eyes, cupped his hands around ‘Lendel’s face and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “I love you so much,” he whispered. “I missed you so, so incredibly much. But it was worth it.”

He hadn’t asked the Shadow-Lover nearly all the questions he had planned, he thought vaguely – he had been hoping to extract more hints about what in all hells he was supposed to be doing with Leareth – but that had been a dubious proposal at best, probably doomed to failure.

 _I learned what I needed to._ The only part that mattered, in the end.

“Just hold me,” he whispered. “I don’t know how long They’ll let us stay here, but however long we have…”

* * *

_:Kernos’ bloody balls, I swear I had it that time!:_ Gemma’s mindvoice was explosive, ripping through the peace of the Healing-meld.

Shavri felt as she centered and grounded, draining away the frustration and panic. To be dealt with later. _:We’re fine:_ the other Healer sent, calm again. _:We’ll get this. Everyone back off a moment, let me See – good – on my mark…:_

It felt like there were dozens of green-robed bodies crammed into the room. Shavri had been with Sandra in the shielded room, so she hadn’t known anything was wrong until one of the trainees banged on the door, screaming for her. The other Healers had parted to let her through; apparently, in terms of seniority, she counted about equal with Gemma, even though the other woman was twenty years older.

Vanyel lay flat on the bed, eyes open and unseeing, pupils dilated until there was only a thin ring of silver. It was creepy, but that was so far from her top priority right now.

 _:Now:_ Gemma sent, and wrenched power from the meld, flinging it in Vanyel’s general direction. None of them could get a proper link to him, not even Shavri; without his heart beating, there wasn’t enough to anchor on.

He twitched on the bed, muscles spasming, but his heart was still stalled; the pattern was disorganized, chaotic, accomplishing nothing. Andrel was kneeling on the bed itself, practically sitting on Vanyel, massaging his chest in an attempt to coax the organ into working again.

 _Don’t panic,_ Shavri told herself firmly. _It’s been less than a minute. We have time._

 _:Gemma:_ she sent. _:Can you back off completely and give me ten seconds? I want to try something. Andy, you too, you’re messing up my Sight:_

It had occurred to her in the aftermath of Kilchas’ illness; she had sat next to him for an entire night, delicately prodding his unsteady heart-rhythm into order every time it faltered. Not a massive gush of energy, that would have been counterproductive, but a perfectly timed poke.

She couldn’t get a proper link to Vanyel’s life-force, but she could still use her Sight, diving inward. She could fling a much smaller dart of Healing-energy – smaller, but targeted, exactly where it needed to be.

 _There._ She gritted her teeth, and Pushed.

 _Oh gods I made it worse._ The entire heart-muscle seized, and then relaxed into limpness.

–And then twitched again. Not quite a heartbeat, but getting there.

Gemma started to lean forward.

 _:Don’t:_ Shavri interrupted. _:Let me:_ Gemma didn’t have the hang of the trick she had used with Kilchas; as far as Shavri knew, she was the only one right now who could manage it delicately enough that it was helpful rather than harmful. And it wasn’t really to her credit; it was mostly because she could lean on Need for help with the timing.

Let her Gift rest... Just there. Just so. 

_:Need:_ she sent. _:Help me?:_ The sword had been silent so far.

A snort. _:I thought you’d never ask, woman:_

Wait…wait for it… _:Got it:_ she sent with satisfaction. _:I’ll hold this for a while. Someone else needs to work on getting him breathing:_

 _:On it:_ Gemma sent.

 _:I can feel a pulse now:_ Andrel sent. _:Good work, Shavri:_

 _:It’s mostly him:_ This was much easier going than it had been with Kilchas; Vanyel’s heart, young and healthy, was already slipping into a regular rhythm.

 _:I think he’s fighting me:_ Gemma sent, maybe a minute later. _:I’m going to back off:_

Vanyel coughed weakly, drew in a rasping breath, then made a wet choking sound.

 _:And:_ Gemma snapped, _:now I have been vomited on. Really, that’s exactly the kind of day I’m having. Andy, I could use some help:_ A disgusted snort. _:That’s the last time he’s ever getting soup. Gross:_

Sagging with relief, Shavri opened her eyes, still offering her energy to the group-meld but pulling back slightly. Vanyel was limp, lying on his side with Andrel supporting his head, but his colour was already coming back.

 _:Where’s his goddamned air-of-life talisman?:_ Gemma sent suddenly. _:Seriously, is that what caused our entire problem? If he took it off because it was uncomfortable, I might actually strangle him and finish the job:_

Hearing Gemma be cranky was a good sign, Shavri thought wryly; it meant she wasn’t as panicked anymore. She glanced around. _:Here it is:_

Gemma snatched it from her hand. _:Is it powered? It doesn’t seem to be doing anything:_

 _:…I think not:_ Shavri couldn’t tell directly, of course, but they usually made a very faint hissing noise when they were working.

Gemma swore, creatively and thoroughly. _:All right, we need someone in here RIGHT NOW who can re-power this damned thing before we lose him again. Andy, try for Savil:_

_:She’s on her way–:_

On the bed, Vanyel stirred, moaning.

 _:And I can’t believe it, he’s waking up. It’s been, what, a minute?:_ Gemma turned to Shavri. _:Try to get a Mindspeech link, see if you can keep him calm:_

His shields were completely down, his mind still a semiconscious haze, but slowly firming. Shavri prodded. _:Van. Hey:_

 _:?:_ She saw the moment when awareness returned to his eyes; he immediately squeezed them shut.

 _:Talk to me:_ she sent.

 _:…Shavri?:_ Completely undirected Mindspeech that barely deserved the title, underlaid by a buzzing confusion, but he recognized her.

She tried to steady the flailing link from her end, reaching for his hand. _:Welcome back. You’re still in the House of Healing. Gave us a scare:_

 _:Sorry:_ Guilt leaking through.

_:Van, it’s not your fault–:_

She cut off. Suddenly, she had an awful suspicion.

Not the time to try to confirm it, though – there were running footsteps. The door was still ajar, and Shavri lifted her head just in time to see Stefen skid to a halt, hair wet, wearing only a robe, white as a sheet and wide-eyed.

She raised her voice. “Stef! Come on in. He’s all right.”

Stefen hadn’t even waited for her encouragement – he was already at Vanyel’s side, dauntlessly elbowing between the Healers to perch on the side of the cot, taking his hand and whispering words of reassurance. Shavri had never seen him looking so afraid.

 _He really cares about Van._ Stefen had always been such a cipher to her, she struggled to see past his surface-level charm into whatever really drove him – but she remembered a few mentions from Jisa that he was ‘infatuated’ with Vanyel. To her eyes, it looked like this went a lot deeper than that. Something about the way he was sitting, all of his attention on Vanyel… It was familiar, and she wasn’t sure why.

* * *

Savil jumped, startled, as Gemma stuck her head out into the hallway. “Come on back,” the Healer said – not quite cheerfully, but she no longer sounded irritated enough to spit nails, either. “We’ve got him cleaned up.”

Savil nodded warily and slipped through the door after her, Jisa on her heels; the two of them had stepped out to give the Healers some space to work once the immediate danger was past. Stefen had refused to leave, and Savil had been able to hear the strains of his godawful toy flute even through the closed door.

Someone had brought him a chair, she saw, and he had pulled it right next to the bed. Still clad only in a bathrobe, he was playing one-handed – which restricted him to repeating the same four or five notes – and was holding Vanyel’s hand again.

The way he was sitting, every line of his body turned towards Van… _What does that remind me of?_ She couldn’t put her finger on it.

Vanyel looked a lot better already – still pale, but the bluish tinge had faded from his lips, and his breathing was steady. Gemma was back in her own chair, with the air of someone resignedly settling in for a long night. “If I could trouble anyone to bring me a cup of chava?” she said hopefully.

“I’ll do it,” Jisa chimed in. She had been hovering uncertainly at the foot of the bed, eyes fixed on Stef, with an odd expression.

Savil frowned. There was something she was missing, niggling at the edge of her mind. Shavri, standing at the head of the bed with her hand on Vanyel’s shoulder, was watching her daughter as well, eyes narrowed.

There didn’t seem to be any available chairs, so she perched on the side of the cot, reaching for Van’s other hand. His shields were still down. _:Ke’chara, it’s me:_ she sent. _:How are you feeling?:_

He made no attempt to pick up his end of the link, but his eyes flickered briefly open, searching for her, not quite focusing.

Shavri’s Mindtouch brushed her shields. _:He’s still pretty out of it:_

 _:Is that normal?:_ Savil pulled Gemma into the link as well. Better to keep her worried questions in Mindspeech, and avoid panicking Stef. _:Or, I mean, is there damage…?:_

Gemma was the one who answered. _:I think it’s to be expected. He’s worn out – this was a massive shock for his body. Stefen’s Gift seems to be helping a great deal, though. Almost looks like he’s energy-sharing as well:_ A brief sigh. _:I don’t want to pressure the lad, we’ve asked so much of him already, but having him here is helping:_

Savil reached to stroke Vanyel’s hair. _:Doesn’t look like he wants to leave:_ Stef seemed oblivious to them and their silent conversation.

Vanyel stirred, moaning, trying to lift his head from the pillow.

“What is it, _ke’chara?”_

A burst of tangled, distressed overtones slapped at her shields. There were probably words in there somewhere, but Savil wasn’t sure what any of them were.

“I didn’t catch that,” Gemma said dryly. “Van, can you try again?”

Stef lowered the flute. “Oh, are you cold? Gemma, can we get him another blanket?”

Vanyel relaxed, gratitude in his eyes before he closed them again.

Gemma chuckled. “I didn’t know Bards could read minds, lad. Shavri, can you…?” The door opened. “Oh, thank you, Jisa.” She took the mug. “Could I trouble you to bring us one of the heated blankets as well?”

Stef had already turned back to Vanyel, blocking the rest of them out.

 _Oh._ Savil’s spine went rigid, recognition hitting. She remembered seeing Vanyel with that exact same posture and focus. Eighteen years ago, sitting by Tylendel’s bedside when he was unconscious with backlash.

Later on, he had always been able to guess what ‘Lendel needed even before he asked for it.

Just like Stef was doing now.

Gods.

 _:Kellan:_ she reached out, through the slight resistance of her own temporary shielding. _:Don’t tell me Van’s gone and lifebonded to the boy:_

The pleased, almost smug overtones told her the answer even before Kellan responded. _:I wondered when you would guess:_

 _:How is that possible?:_ Savil hoped she didn’t look as gobsmacked as she felt. Not that anyone was even looking in her direction. _:Do they know?:_

A pause. _:Van put it together, earlier today. Stef doesn’t know yet:_ There was an odd caginess in Kellan’s mindvoice, and discomfort; her Companion was holding something back.

It made a lot of sense that Vanyel would recognize what a lifebond felt like, while Stef would have no idea, and there hadn’t exactly been a good time for them to discuss it so far.

 _:Jisa knows, doesn’t she?:_ It explained the girl’s odd glances at Stef.

_:I imagine so:_

_:Should I, er, do something?:_ Savil couldn’t think what that ‘something’ might be. Stef deserved to know, obviously, but her mind flinched away from the thought of taking him aside now and telling him herself. What an unbearably awkward conversation. _:Maybe I should tell Melody:_ And foist that part on her; she was much better qualified for it. Why hadn’t Jisa pulled her in already?

 _:I think telling Melody would be an excellent idea:_ Again that odd, secretive note, but Savil was too tired to drag it out of her.

It could all be dealt with later. For now, the only thing that mattered was that Van was all right, and she was there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter!!!! please do tell me your thoughts and feelings about it in comments, which feel my soul.
> 
> Also, guys guys guys THIS FIC: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24300682/chapters/58578634


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Midmorning.

Jisa leaned against the wall of the sunlit center station at Healers’, hands wrapped around her smuggled half-cup of chava, this time generously sweetened with cream and honey. Yet again, she had been up most of the night. She had snatched a few candlemarks of real sleep in the empty room beside Van’s, after extracting a promise from Gemma that the Healer would wake her if there was any change. It hadn’t been very restful.

Everything had gone wrong so fast. Shavri had Mindtouched her frantically the night before, waking her from where she had fallen asleep in the Palace library with her face squished into the book in front of her, and she had sprinted over and arrived after it was all over. Stef had beaten her there and was already sitting with Van, holding his hand and whisper-singing to him, and Savil had showed up less than a minute later.

Jisa had pieced it together quickly enough; her father had been doing fine, stable enough to be left alone, until suddenly his heart stopped. Gemma thought maybe he had taken off his air-of-life talisman by accident and stopped breathing; Van claimed not to remember anything, and Yfandes was pleading ignorance as well.

Jisa had an awful suspicion. Based on a few glimpses of her mother’s face, she thought Shavri did as well, though she certainly wasn’t going to say anything about it in her daughter’s earshot.

 _Someone came for him._ And they had failed, barely, thanks to her mother’s skill as a Healer and the fact that Shavri had been right there, next door with Sandra. Maybe next time they would be luckier. Or they would come for Savil, who was old and couldn’t fight as well.

Her parents weren’t going to let her help, even if she admitted to having figured it out. Because she was thirteen, and she wasn’t Chosen and she wasn’t a mage.

Another girl her age might have said that her parents were right, and this wasn’t her problem to fix yet. But not Jisa. Not Shavri and Randi and Vanyel’s daughter. _I can’t walk away._

She needed some fresh air, she decided, to clear her head. She hadn’t wanted to go far from Van’s room, but he had Savil and Andrel with him as well as Stef; if anyone could get past them, they could certainly get past one skinny thirteen-year-old Mindhealer.

Jisa missed Treven. He could have made her feel better, somehow. He had been busy all morning with his duties, though he had Mindtouched her three times to say that he was thinking of her. She hadn’t said anything to Mother yet about their kiss. Partly Jisa was nervous to tell her, and not sure how to start that conversation, but mostly they just hadn’t had any chance to speak privately.

Outside, sunlight glanced into her eyes. She shaded her eyes with one hand, blinking, and sneezed. 

_I wish I were a mage, I wish I wish I wish–_

Wishes were for little girls who still believed in ballads and fairy tales. In the real world, if Jisa wanted her problems fixed, she needed to do something about it herself.

She had already tried praying to Vkandis, who after all had once given Karis miraculous Healing powers, if only for a night. Then she had prayed to all the other gods she knew of, just in case. That hadn’t worked either. She hadn’t really been expecting it to.

There was Mother’s magic sword, who could sort of give someone mage-powers, though Jisa probably wasn’t supposed to know that. She had even overheard a snippet that hinted that Need had somehow helped someone with a concert-Gate. But that wasn’t really like being a mage; being dependent on a sword was hardly better than being dependent on someone like Vanyel to protect her. Besides, the stupid thing would probably think she was too young as well–

A flicker of memory. Seven years old, clinging to her mama’s arm, staring up at the black-clad stranger in trepidation. Feeling something tug at her mind – not a Mindtouch, not a person at all, it had been strange and frightening. And then Shavri had shooed her off, but her eyes had followed Jisa, closed-off and worried. She remembered noticing her mother watching her, over the next few days, her eyes overflowing with something that she didn’t understand.

Jisa had known something funny was going on, but she had forgotten about it, even when later she put together that Mother had picked up the sword on that trip. She had just accepted it, taking it for granted, and had never noticed until years later that it was strange.

But she was confused now, and that meant there was something she had missed. _Notice your confusion_ , Vanyel had always said.

What if the sword was for her?

It seemed to fit – and it made a lot more sense that Mother would agree to carry a magic sword that made her go heroically fight and rescue people, which wasn’t really her thing, if it had been the only way to protect Jisa from it. Even she had to admit that at seven she had been too young.

Was it at all possible that the sword could awaken her potential? No, surely the adults would have already thought to ask that, and tried it with some of the Herald-trainees. Not her, even though she had the potential. Mother had never wanted her to be a mage; her face had gone dark every time Jisa ever asked about it.

The path under her feet changed to grass; she was on the edge of Companion’s Field. Jisa let her feet carry her along, still deep in thought. The field was full of flowers, sweet-smelling in the sunlight, and most times that would have lifted her mood, but not now. The world was so precious, so beautiful, so full of good things – and someone needed to protect them, because there was danger coming. And there weren’t enough mages and they kept dying one by one.

Van could work through someone else’s potential mage-gift, Jisa remembered, and he had once thought that might awaken dormant Gifts. But it hadn’t ever worked before, and she didn’t have a good excuse to ask him to try it with her anyway.

A shadow fell across her. Jisa, looking up, found she had wandered to the edge of the Grove.

The Grove, where the first Companions had come from. Because King Valdemar had had a problem, and he had prayed to the gods and they had helped him solve it.

_So why won’t the gods help us with this?_

Maybe they had. Vanyel’s power seemed sort of like a miracle. But he was one person, and it wasn’t fair for him to have to do it alone.

She closed her eyes. _I don’t know what to do anymore._

_:Jisa:_

The mindvoice was strange, cold and blue and somehow too bright, like the sun reflecting from steel.

She lifted her head. _:Rolan?:_ A lot of people had trouble telling Companions apart, but not Jisa, and Dara’s Companion had always looked different to her. Brighter, somehow.

 _:Follow me:_ he sent, ringing command. _:I wish to speak with you:_

It would never have occurred to her to refuse. She took a step, then another, the twilight shadows of the grove swallowing her.

 _:There is a choice you must make, child:_ Rolan sent. _:I might tell you the considerations, but if I do, I must erase them from your mind once your decision is made:_

Jisa nodded. “All right.” Staring into his blue eyes, unflinching, she bit the inside of her own lip until she drew blood.

 _:Many years ago:_ he sent, _:the plan was that you were to be King’s Own, after your mother:_

“Shavri?” Jisa stared at him. “But she isn’t–”

 _:No. She refused, and so Taver chose Tantras instead, and we found ourselves on another path. One that led us to Taver’s death, and thus I am here:_ He bent his heavy white head, solemn. _:You were still too young, and I was Called to another:_

Jisa was still boggling at him. She hadn’t ever imagined that she might have been Chosen as King’s Own. After her mother… “Does that mean you expected Shavri to die?”

 _:Everyone dies sooner or later:_ Then he lifted his head. _:But, yes, Taver did not think it likely she would outlive her lifebonded. I think perhaps he was wrong. We shall see:_

Jisa pressed her lips together.

 _:Your choice:_ Rolan sent _:is thus whether to be Chosen at all, now:_

She stared at him. “Yes! Obviously! How is that even a question?” A pause, and confusion rose. “Do you do this with everyone?” It seemed difficult to manage, so many children were found far outside of Haven, but it was a good idea, really, now that she’d thought of it. Not everyone wanted to be Chosen.

 _:No:_ Distant amusement in his mindvoice. _:Your situation is unique. In any case, please let me finish:_ A flicker of something like impatience. _:There are further considerations. One. Treven:_

Jisa took a step back, her cheeks flaming. “What? How do you–”

 _:I was not spying on you:_ A chuckle, somehow glittering and metallic, like hand-chimes. _:He loves you, Jisa. He would choose you as his life-partner, and if you were to be a Herald–:_

This time, she stumbled back into a tree. “You mean–” She swallowed hard. “I could be Queen?”

 _:If you were to marry. There will be pressure for Treven to remain open for an alliance-marriage, and yet I think the prospects for this are poor, and it is no longer needed as it was in your father’s time. If he were instead to marry a Herald, not just any Herald but the King’s daughter – yes, Jisa, I know that is not true, but we will maintain the fiction – I do believe it would be celebrated. It has been many years since there were last co-consorts on the throne, and it may be of great value now. There are difficult times ahead, Jisa:_ A pause. _:The question remains. Is this what you want?:_

She closed her eyes. “It would break Mother’s heart.” Even though she wanted it so, so badly.

_:It is not your mother’s choice to make. It is yours, Jisa. To rule is a heavy burden, and you would sacrifice much:_

She thought of all her other dreams. Fighting on the Border. Building the Mindhealers’ Collegium with Melody. Saving all of the animals. Maybe she would have less time for all of those things – but, at the same time, she might have even more chances to be efficient. She would have the power to really, truly change things.

 _You would be a good Queen,_ Papa had said to her.

Rolan was offering her a wrong question. It wasn’t really an either-or at all.

She blinked away tears. “Yes, Rolan. I want it.” All of it.

And yet, it still felt incomplete. To be Queen was a sort of power, but it wasn’t enough for everything. There was danger coming, someone was murdering Herald-Mages, and even her papa was scared, even a King’s authority wasn’t enough that he could fix it. Which made sense. It wasn’t like reality listened to a King’s orders.

Jisa wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I want it, but…I need a little while, all right? Just, t-today’s already been so weird, I don’t think I can take any more.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly, but she wasn’t saying everything. There was something she needed to do first, while she still could, because there was absolutely no way her new Companion would let her.

 _:I understand:_ Again, Rolan bowed his head. _:There is no need to hurry. Jisa, you are a very brave girl, and Valdemar is lucky to have you:_

_…_ Jisa stumbled out of the Grove, into the bright sunlight, and glanced around for a moment before sinking to her knees on the lush grass. _What am I doing here?_

Her mouth tasted like blood.

Jisa explored the inside of her lip with her tongue. There was a cut, and she didn’t remember how it had gotten there.

Once upon a time, when she learned that a skilled Mindhealer could hide away memories, Jisa had decided on a signal to herself, so she would know if it ever happened to her.

_I’ve forgotten something._

How had she gotten to the Grove?

Still kneeling in the meadow, she mentally retraced her steps. She had been woolgathering, wandering in no particular direction. Grinding over the same old stupid impossible question of whether she could become a mage. And now she was standing outside the Grove, and she didn’t remember when, or why, she had walked into it.

Think – no, trying too hard might make it worse, like with remembering dreams. She tried to let her mind drift at random, like she did when she was falling asleep.

Treven’s face came into her thoughts. The way his eyes were when he looked at her, his blinding smile–

Suddenly, more than anything, she wanted him to be there, standing like a slim young beech tree, holding her safe in the circle of his arms.

She Reached. _:Trev?:_

 _:Jisa?:_ A glimpse of a hallway through his eyes, rushing past; he always walked so fast. _:Are you all right?:_

 _:I don’t know:_ She looked around. Why was she kneeling in the grass again? _:I think it’s all getting to me, Trev. I just needed to hear your mindvoice:_ Like he was an anchor, holding her place in a suddenly nonsensical world.

_:I need to tell Dara something, that will take a few minutes, but after that I have a break. Come have lunch with me?:_

_:If you’re sure you have time–:_ she started, hesitantly.

_:For you I always have time, Jisa:_

_:All right:_ Maybe she could pick some of the wildflowers from the field, bring them to him as a surprise.

And she would keep working on remembering what she had forgotten.

* * *

For the third or fourth time, Stef nearly jumped out of his skin when the door opened/

“It’s just me,” Jisa said cheerily. “I brought flowers. How is he?”

There was something odd in the way she moved. She hadn’t gotten any more sleep than Stef had, during the endless terrifying night, but her eyes were fever-bright despite the dark bags below; it was like there was a coiled-up spring inside her, and Stef was almost afraid of what would happen when it let go.

Melody followed her in, exchanging a nod with Shavri and Savil and then leaning back against the wall with her arms folded. Stef didn’t know Jisa’s teacher well, and couldn’t think what she was doing here now.

It was just before noon. Probably. Time was starting to feel vague. Stef couldn’t remember ever having been so tired. Shavri had just taken Andrel’s place so that he could grab a bite to eat. Savil had been in and out all morning, in between various other duties.

Medren had visited the night before, and brought Stef some actual clothes and a borrowed student reed-flute from the instrument room. It didn’t sound _quite_ as much like a dying cat.

“Better,” Stef murmured. As long as he kept drinking enough of the herb-tea with honey that the Healers were kindly bringing for him, he could speak, though his voice was raspy and he hadn’t risked singing. “Van, wake up a little.” He reached for the Herald’s shoulder. “Jisa’s here.”

Vanyel’s eyes flickered open. The flash of relief and gratitude when he focused on Stef sent a pulse of something nameless through his chest.

Van had seemed so genuinely delighted to see Stef there when he woke in the morning – it wasn’t _fair_ for anyone’s smile to be that blinding. _He wants me here._ Stef had been wrestling with his stubborn hopes all morning. Vanyel enjoyed his company – he had said as much, and proved it wasn’t a polite lie by inviting Stef to visit often – and of course he would be extra grateful for painblocking right now. It didn’t mean he was romantically interested. Hoping for that was a dead end.

Van’s eyes had gone distant, now, and Stef suspected he was Mindspeaking with Jisa. Which was a good sign. For candlemarks the night before, he had been too groggy to Mindspeak reliably, and Gemma had been starting to worry.

“Yes, I did,” Jisa said out loud. “They’re from Companions’ Field.” A pause. “All right.”

The one-sided conversations were infuriating, but not as much as the discreet Mindspeech discussions where Stef was left out entirely.

Shavri stood and came to take the clumsy bouquet. “Thank you. They’re lovely.” She yawned. “Jisa, are you doing all right? I’ve been neglecting you.”

“It’s fine, Mother. You’re doing important work.” Jisa’s smile had faded, though.

“Let me give you a hug.” Shavri held out her arms.

Stef looked away. It wasn’t that he was jealous, his life had been fine without parents, but it always made him feel strange, seeing how Jisa was with her mother. Like standing outside a window, nose pressed to the glass, looking in at a crackling fire.

Vanyel had closed his eyes again. A fresh pang of guilt – Van might be a lot further on in his recovery right now if Stef hadn’t been such a goddamned idiot. _I left him alone for twenty minutes and he nearly died._ Stef had wanted to scream at whichever Healer had decided he didn’t need someone watching him.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, there was a blank spot in Stef’s memory. He had been getting out of the bath, over at Bardic, and then woken on the floor with his shoulder throbbing and one of the second-year students worriedly shaking him. There hadn’t been time to do more than croak out a reassuring phrase, snatch a robe, and bolt.

When Stef tried to prod at that missing instant, it made him feel dizzy, and there were a few images like something from a dream, eerily familiar. Firelight, and a strange sky, even more unsettling than the odd familiarity of the mountain-skyline in Vanyel’s bizarre dream.

He couldn’t explain it, and he hated that. Even more than he hated not knowing what in all hells had been going on with the snow-dream. Vanyel had promised to explain – an entire day ago now, goddamnit, but there hadn’t been a good moment for it. He still couldn’t really speak, Stef’s own voice wasn’t exactly in top form, and they’d had no time to talk privately anyway.

If Stef had had his wits about him, he might have made headway on his own – it surely had something to do with the Problem – but his head felt full of glue. He had spent so much time painblocking, lost in trance, and even when Vanyel was resting, it was nearly impossible to do anything except worry about him, and be grateful, over and over and over again, that it hadn’t gone worse. That Vanyel was alive, recovering, and wasn’t going to feel a single instant’s worth of avoidable pain.

No matter what else might be wrong with the world, Van wanted him there, and that was enough.

Jisa wriggled free of her mother’s arms. “I should go. I’m having lunch with Treven.”

“Very nice.” Shavri smiled tiredly. “Have fun.”

Savil, who had been yawning in the corner, stood up. “I should go as well. I need to check on the Web. Van, _ke’chara,_ you’ll be all right?”

Presumably he had answered in the affirmative with Mindspeech, because she moved briskly to the door. Jisa’s eyes went wide and worried for a moment, but she seemed to shake herself. “I’ll walk with you.” She offered her arm, exactly like Medren would to escort a lady. Stef tried not to snicker.

At the door, Jisa paused, catching Melody’s eye. The Mindhealer nodded to her, and Jisa slipped out.

 _What’s that about?_ Stef could recognize when there was context he was missing.

The door fell closed with a thud. Vanyel started struggling to sit up – before he had moved more than an inch or two, Stef found himself leaning in, offering a supporting arm. Van shot him a look of mute gratitude, and Stef felt the echoes of it deep in his chest.

Melody stepped forward, her eyes resting on Vanyel. His expression flattened.

“Right,” she said briskly, a moment later. “With Shavri here?”

Vanyel glanced at the Healer, then at Stef, then nodded.

 _This is ridiculous._ Stef swallowed nervously, and raised his hand. “Um, would someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“Give me a chance to sit down, please.” Melody was dragging over the chair that Savil had vacated. Shavri had slid her own chair closer to the bed as well, reaching out and resting her hand on Vanyel’s shoulder.

Melody sat, smoothed down her robes, and folded her hands across her lap. “All right. Stef, I do want to discuss something that’s fairly, er, personal. Are _you_ all right with having Shavri here for that?”

Stef could read the pleading look in Vanyel’s face. “Sure, that’s fine.” Impulsively, he held out his hand, and was a little surprised when Vanyel reached out and gripped it.

He remembered when it had sent sparks through his entire body when Vanyel touched him. It didn’t, now; it just felt right.

It was so easy to slip into fantasies of – _Stop it. Don’t get ahead of yourself_. Vanyel seeking a friend’s comfort when he was ill wasn’t the same thing as romantic interest either.

Melody looked hard at him for a moment longer, then her eyes darted to the window. “You know,” she said mildly, “I keep getting stuck on how to say this. So I might as well just spit it out. Stef, you and Van are lifebonded.”

For a moment, all he could do was stare, his mind skidding off into nothing.

“To each other,” Melody added. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Stef opened his mouth. Words refused to come. He closed it again. Even though he wasn’t looking in Vanyel’s direction at all, he could feel the Herald’s eyes on him like a heated weight.

If it was true, it was the most wonderful thing that had happened to him. Too good to be true. Lifebonds were something out of tales. Or, at least, something that happened to kings and heroes. People like Randale and Shavri. Not at all the kind of thing that happened to a gutter-rat like Stef.

He licked his lips. “You’re kidding,” he managed. “I – no – I can’t–”

“I’m entirely serious.” A flicker of amusement in Melody’s green eyes, though her lips remained solemn. “Stef, you couldn’t be expected to recognize the signs, given that you haven’t experienced it before. I imagine you’ve been very in tune with Van – that you’re able to pick up on what he’s thinking and feeling without his needing to tell you.”

Stef thought about it for a moment, and then nodded. He _had_ noticed that, and hadn’t questioned it. Had he assumed it was just his well-honed training for reading people, and maybe the odd sensitivity of his Bardic Gift? He was used to being able to tell when people were in pain, but he had been picking up a lot more detail than that from Vanyel. Like the day before, when Van had been too drowsy to communicate and he had nonetheless been able to reliably guess at what he needed. Gemma had remarked on it, teasing him.

Maybe that should have clued him in that something was strange, but there was no way in a thousand years he would have guessed that the explanation was being _lifebonded_. To Herald-Mage Vanyel Demonsbane. _How? Why?_

“And,” Melody went on dryly, “I suspect you’ve _both_ noticed that you’ve, er, been having the sort of feelings about each other that normally go along with a lifebond.”

–Stef twitched as embarrassment washed over him. Not _his_ embarrassment. When he dared a sideways glance, he saw that Vanyel had turned bright red. _Don’t laugh._ By itself, the embarrassment would have stung, but the wash of joy that came along with it showed that whatever Van was feeling awkward about, it wasn’t being lifebonded to him.

Then the niggling confusion in the back of his mind solidified. Melody had addressed him. Not Vanyel.

“You knew,” he said hoarsely, turning and forcing himself to meet Vanyel’s eyes. “How long?” That would explain his odd looks.

Vanyel opened his mouth, then grimaced and glanced at Melody.

“He guessed yesterday,” Melody said smoothly. “Which, really, he had no excuse for taking even that long to recognize it, but I suppose it’s not his fault he’s a little oblivious.”

That made even less sense – until the pieces slammed together. “Oh,” Stef said faintly.

Recognize, not guess.

Vanyel had been lifebonded before – that was a thing? There only one person he could have been bonded to. Half a dozen offhand remarks Jisa had made, that he had noted without understanding the significance, suddenly made a lot more sense.

“Yes,” Melody said. Her eyebrows rose. “Correct. Honestly, I figured you knew already, given your reputation for ferreting out everyone’s secrets.”

“I do not–” Stef started in protest, and gave up. It was fair enough, and who said it had to be a bad thing? He was disappointed in himself, actually, for not having put it together sooner.

At any other time, it would have been an incredibly juicy revelation to mull over, that Van had been lifebonded to Herald-Trainee Tylendel – and survived his death, somehow, that wasn’t meant to be _possible_ and now a few more of Jisa’s cryptic comments were falling into place. But right now, he was already sliding away from it, folding it away for later. It was a thousand times less interesting than the fact that _he_ – Stef, an orphan from the streets of Three Rivers – was somehow lifebonded. To Herald Vanyel Ashkevron, Hero of Stony Tor…

 _It can’t be true_. Oh, but he wanted it to be true, and flinched away from it at the same time – it was too perfect and wonderful – that kind of thing just didn’t _happen._ And yet it _was_ happening. He felt incredibly light, almost dizzy with it, as though he might float away into the clouds at any moment.

“You need to talk about this,” Melody went on, lightly. “Figure out what it means for both of you. None of us were expecting it, but it can’t be undone.” Her hands darted to the collar of her robes. “I did some reading up on new lifebonds this morning, and it seems that normally they don’t fully take root until the concerned parties are in a relationship. So you’re coming about this a bit backward. Vanyel’s going to agonize about it, because of course he is – Van, I know you have qualms about Stef’s age, and probably other things. Which is understandable, but Stef isn’t a child. The fact that your bond is rooted this deeply means you already love each other, whether or not you’ve admitted it to yourselves. I understand this is strange and uncomfortable, but it’s not something you chose on purpose, and trying to deny it at this point is only going to make you and him unhappy.”

Vanyel’s eyes were distant. Stef could feel his uncertainty, clear and vivid – and, under it, the _wanting._

“I know it’s a lot to absorb,” Melody added. “It’s going to take time. I’m happy to help with that conversation, once it’s a slightly better time for it.”

 _I’m sick of waiting for a ‘better time’._ Stef felt hopelessly off-balance, like he had lost his footing on a slope. It was wonderful, incredible, unbelievable news… And it was information, surely it ought to make _something_ come clearer, but it only gave him a hundred more questions, sliding around in his mind.

The dream.

The Problem.

Jisa’s furtive, worried glances.

Hellfires, the narrow-eyed, disapproving look Shavri was giving Vanyel right now. Maybe she was just annoyed with him for not having told Stef already – if he had known since yesterday, Stef was a little hurt himself – but that didn’t quite fit.

And there was no way to hash it out now. Vanyel couldn’t even whisper without it turning into a coughing fit. The Healers weren’t going to leave the two of them alone for long, and Stef would have a thing or two to say if they tried.

–Except that Vanyel was a Mindspeaker. Stronger than Jisa, and she could speak into Stef’s mind even though he didn’t have the Gift.

Which was an unwanted reminder that Vanyel could go right in and read Stef’s thoughts, whenever he felt like it. Of course, he was too ethical to do that without consent – and, to his own surprise, Stef wasn’t sure that the prospect bothered him. Strange. It seemed like he should have been embarrassed, imagining Vanyel having access to his secrets, all the deepest parts of him. The thoughts he had never considered revealing to anyone, not even Jisa. _Definitely_ not Jisa, with her blazing sense of right and wrong. Medren had called Stef a selfish bastard once, only half in jest, and even if it was true, hearing those words from Jisa would have cut to the bone.

Vanyel was a Herald, which should have made it worse, but somehow it didn’t feel that way. _You cut right past all the lies we tell ourselves_ , Van had said. _I do like that about you._ Stef couldn’t think of a single time that Vanyel had looked at him with disappointment or judgement, and he hadn’t been trying _that_ hard to hide what he was. Maybe he should have noticed sooner how strange it was that around Vanyel he tended to just say what he was actually thinking.

A side benefit of letting Vanyel read his mind was that he could answer, sort of; they could have a vaguely two-way conversation in something like private, even with one of the Healers right there.

Of course, he still needed to convince Vanyel to go along with that plan. Stef could guess it would make him very uncomfortable – he might even claim that it was unethical, that he would be using his Gifts to take advantage. Stef couldn’t think what the point of Gifts was if you couldn’t use them for practical purposes.

Melody’s eyes were back on him, level and curious.

Stef swallowed. “I would like a couple of minutes of privacy. If that’s all right.” It was a risk – but he wouldn’t be leaving Van alone, and even if he wasn’t a Healer, he was going to notice if Vanyel started gasping for air or something. And having the conversation he wanted would be awkward even with just the two of them. Vanyel would probably be embarrassed enough to refuse on principal if anyone else witnessed the question.

Silence. Melody was frowning.

“I’ll call for help if anything happens,” he promised. “Shavri, you can stand right outside the door.”

The Mindhealer glanced over at Shavri, and they shared a silent look, and maybe silent words – Stef couldn’t tell.

A moment later, Shavri nodded briskly, and stood up. She held out her hand. “Van, let me have a look at you… Good, I don’t See anything worrying. Just tell Stef right away if you start to feel unwell. I think I’ll go hunt down some chava, but I won’t be far.”

Melody stood as well, a smile twitching at the corners of her lips. “Enjoy, you two.”

She thought she knew what he wanted, Stef thought. She was wrong.

The door clicked shut.

After a long moment of gathering his courage, Stef forced himself to turn and meet Vanyel’s eyes. Van was looking at him with an odd expression – half shy smile, half…apology?

“Well,” Stef said. “That’s that, I guess. Lifebonded.” He wasn’t sure what his face was doing. Something weird.

The smile broadened – involuntarily, Stef thought, a moment before Vanyel visibly forced his face into an impassive expression. Stef couldn’t tell what he was thinking; there was a tangled sense of _something_ humming in his chest, a distant song, but he couldn’t quite unpack it. Tension in the angle of his shoulders. There was uncertainty there. And guilt.

And fear.

More than he had ever wanted anything before, Stef wanted to take Vanyel in his arms and hold him gently until he relaxed. Oh, and to fling him to the floor and kiss him senseless, but he was used to resisting that urge. Vanyel would be mortified if he did either of those things without asking, and figuring out how to ask was too awkward.

Focus. Priorities.

“Vanyel,” he said. “You still haven’t told me what was going on with the goddamned dream. The one with the pass. You’re a Mindspeaker. I _know_ you’re strong enough to use your Gift with me, and you have my permission. To read my thoughts as well. So. Talk into my head. Explain.”

A beat passed in silence. Vanyel’s face had gone stony, unreadable, the same expression Stef had seen on his face a dozen times, in audiences. Revealing nothing, but that didn’t matter anymore; Stef could feel the guilt in him, like acrid smoke from burning green wood.

Finally, Vanyel’s lips moved into an apologetic smile, and he held out his hands, eyes locked on Stef’s face.

 _:Stef:_ Floating into his thoughts, it sounded like Vanyel’s voice, except laden with feeling that no single word ought to be able to convey. Incredulous joy, delight, desire.

“Oh, gods, Van–” Suddenly he couldn’t catch his breath. He reached in as well, gripping Vanyel’s elbows, leaning in until their foreheads touched. _I never want to let you go._

It was distracting enough that all thoughts of his initial plan had fled, and he was startled when Vanyel’s voice spoke in his mind again. _:Stef, I wish I could tell you everything. I can’t even convey how much:_ Absolute sincerity in every word. _:But…I did some thinking, after, and it’s not my secret to share. I would need to clear it with Randi:_ His fingers tightened on Stef’s arms. _:Listen – I swear, it’s not because I don’t trust you. But you have to understand how it would look from the outside. Randi might see it as a betrayal, and I need – I have to be worthy of his trust. I’m sorry; I know I did promise. All I can say is, I was rushed and I didn’t think through all the implications:_

Stef closed his eyes. It stung. A lot.

“I understand,” he forced out. “Don’t want Randi furious with me either.” Though, damn it, it felt bitterly unfair. He _was_ involved now, no matter what the King wanted. _I have a stake in this, right?_

 _:Thank you:_ Vanyel sent, leaning into him.

And that was it, he couldn’t be mad anymore. “It’s all right,” he whispered. Everything was all right. More right than it had ever been in his entire life. The shock fading, confused fragments settling and clicking into place – for the first time, a picture that made sense, holding the world together.

Gods, what was Medren going to say? His words echoed in Stef’s head. _You’ve been head over heels for Uncle Van almost as long as I’ve known you_.

He wouldn’t have put it that way at the time, but Vanyel had been the center of everything since Stef was twelve years old. It was good to finally know why.

_You’re mine._

_I’m not ever letting you go._

* * *

Treven let his hands fall from her head and sat back, giggling.

“How do I look?” Jisa said curiously. They had taken their plates of food back from the dining-hall to Treven’s little private room, the one next to the office of the King’s Own. She had sort of been helping him look at the treasury-report, but he hadn’t really been working; he had taken the last few minutes to braid all the flowers she had brought into her hair. Doing a better job of it than she would have, honestly. He was very clever with his hands.

She felt a little giddy. Utter exhaustion and too much chava made for a heady mix.

Treven grinned. “Stunning. Just like a Queen.”

Like a punch to the stomach. Suddenly Jisa’s mouth tasted like blood again, and the memory rose, distant as though on the other side of a glass window. Like it had happened to someone else, but it hadn’t – it had happened to her. A her who had experienced and forgotten.

_He loves you, Jisa. He would choose you as his life-partner, and if you were to be a Herald–_

She couldn’t remember who had said it to her, but she could piece it together. She had been in the Grove.

If she was to be a Herald…

She didn’t need to remember what she had answered; there was no possible world in which she would ever say no.

Her soon-to-be Companion must have come to her. And she wouldn’t have turned it down, that was impossible, and yet she was here, un-Chosen, and she didn’t remember.

Was there any reason she would have delayed?

There was her half-formed plan. It was a horrible idea in every way. She had set it aside in a moment, before.

But that was before someone had almost successfully murdered her father, which made the matter a lot more urgent. If her new Companion had told her that the danger was as bad as she thought, or worse, and it had suddenly seemed worth it…

“Jisa?” Treven leaned in, concerned. “You look sad. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She took his hand, smiling weakly.

“You’re not.” A crooked smile. “You don’t have to talk about it, though. I know it’s hard. I can just be here.”

He could always guess how she was feeling–

Oh.

Jisa closed her eyes, leaning into his shoulder, and let her Sight open, turning it back on her own mind.

Yes.

There was something new. Still tiny, just a seedling, but its thin baby roots went deep, and they twined around something else… Someone else. She might not have Seen it at all if she hadn’t just had practice watching Van’s mind overnight.

A lifebond.

The other end of which was in Treven’s mind; she didn’t even need her Sight to confirm that.

She was lifebonded to a future King.

 _Oh gods, Mother is going to be so upset._ A pointless, petty thought, and she almost laughed at herself.

Treven squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jisa, I do have to go soon.”

“I know.” She rested her chin on his shoulder. It was a lot easier to do that when he wasn’t towering over her.

If she was to be lifebonded to a King, it was a _lot_ more important that she could protect herself. And him. Or she would be a weakness, because it would destroy him if anything happened to her.

She could do that if she was a mage.

But if it made her more of a target–

Well, she didn’t have to tell anyone. She could be a secret mage, and only use her power discreetly to keep Treven safe.

Her plan was a very bad idea. On top of being dangerous, some of the steps were awfully unethical. And yet. _I can’t walk away._

She knew whose daughter she was, and she knew exactly what Vanyel would have done in her place.

* * *

_:Ke’chara:_ A cautious Mindtouch.

 _:Savil?:_ Vanyel rolled over. Judging by the light, it was already late afternoon, the third day he had been at Healers’. Self-inflicted setback or no, he was feeling much better. Now that he was aware of it, he suspected the gentle flow of energy from Stef, present even when the young Bard wasn’t using his Gift, was involved.

It was infuriating that the Healers were keeping him on bedrest. He had no privacy at all; Andrel had been parked at his bedside for the entire day. When he complained, Yfandes had pointed out, tartly, that it was his own fault.

 _:I’m sorry, did I wake you?:_ She stood in the doorway, her face in shadow.

_:No, it’s fine:_

She crossed the room and settled down on the side of the bed, reaching for his hand. _:How are you feeling?:_

 _:Better:_ He hesitated, looking up into her face, the slanting light painting her hair gold. _:Savil, there’s something I should tell you:_

 _:Oh?:_ Her eyes sparkled, a mostly-suppressed grin threatening to break loose. _:I rather think I can guess what, actually?:_ She glanced sideways, past him.

Vanyel followed her gaze. Stef was sitting in the chair on his other side, eyelids at half-mast, not asleep but not exactly awake either.

Savil’s giddy smugness was still leaking along the mindlink. _:You guessed:_ he started, half-accusingly. _:That we’re–:_

 _:Lifebonded? It’s rather goddamned obvious:_ She was trying to sound tart, and utterly failing. _:When exactly were you planning on telling me?:_

_:I’ve only known for a day!:_

Stef, sensing something of the currents between them, was straightening up in the chair. His single raised eyebrow shouldn’t have been enough to ask a complete question, but the ‘what is she on about’ was clear.

Vanyel hesitated for a moment – they weren’t really in private, but it was just Andrel there, and there was hardly any point hiding from him. If anyone else came by, his Thoughtsensing would detect them before they knocked.

He reached out, and Stef took his hand. The vibrant, inexorable song in his chest rose higher and closer. Before, on the balcony, Stef’s touch had felt like brushing too close to a fire. It wasn’t like that now; it was quieter, warmer, coming home to a crackling hearth at the end of a long day. A promise of safety.

They had discussed things earlier that day, to the extent that conversation was possible, and limited by the fact that Vanyel found himself starting to nod off mid-sentence. Stef saw no reason to keep it private. Vanyel was the one who had been pushing for secrecy.

 _You know my position,_ he had said. _I could be a target, and I don’t want to put you in danger._

Stef had only scoffed. _Trying to keep it to ourselves only means it’ll be a scandal when it does come out._

Maybe he was right, which only made the whole thing more unfair and ridiculous. What was he supposed to do?

Dragging himself back to the moment, Vanyel landed a gentle probe on Stef’s mind. For someone who wasn’t a Thoughtsenser, Stef had remarkably solid natural shields, mostly concealing his surface thoughts – but they parted for Vanyel’s touch, almost like a Mindspeaker accepting their end of a link.

 _:She guessed about us:_ he sent. _:Sounds like it’s more conspicuous than I’d realized:_

He shouldn’t have bothered to worry that Stef would be upset. The young man only smiled, almost slyly, and tipped his head in Savil’s direction, winking.

She grinned back at him, a rare expression for her, and reached out across the bed to squeeze his shoulder. It felt somehow unfair, like the two of them were ganging up on them, though even Vanyel could tell that didn’t make much sense.

He released the probe from Stef’s mind, raised his shields, and reached for Savil again. _:There’s something else:_

_:Oh?:_

He took a deep breath. _:I talked to Leareth last night. And Stef got pulled in. ‘Fandes figures it’s because he was touching me and I wasn’t shielding:_

 _:Oh:_ She sat back, blinking. _:That’s… What? Gods, does Leareth know?:_

 _:No. I don’t think so:_ He fumbled through the chronology of the dream. _:And then it seemed like Leareth ‘woke up’ when I actually stepped out:_ he finished. It was always so hard to tell with the man, but surely his being preoccupied wasn’t enough information for even Leareth to guess the bizarre and specific sequence of events.

Stef hadn’t said much about his dream-experience, only that he had ‘kept riding in that miserable snowstorm’ until he woke up.

 _:I see:_ A pause, then the worry rose. _:How much does Stef know?:_

Vanyel forced his jaw to relax. _:He saw the pass and the army. And I, er, promised I would explain:_ He let out his breath. _:I haven’t yet. Explained, I mean. I told him I needed to talk to Randi first, that it’s not my decision, and he hasn’t pushed:_ His chest ached in sympathy, remembering the hurt he had picked up from Stef, and how hard he had been trying to hide it.

Savil nodded briskly. _:Randi needs to know. About the lifebond as well, I think:_

 _:I agree:_ Even if it was personal, private, he could understand why it was strategically relevant. _:Savil… Can I please tell him myself?:_ He was tired of his private life being passed around by third parties.

_:That’s fair:_

_:If Yfandes is right:_ he added, _:then as long at we’re not sleeping in the same bed and unshielded, he won’t be pulled into the dream again:_

 _:Mmm:_ He could almost hear the wheels turning in Savil’s mind. _:We would need to clear it with Randi first, of course, but…I don’t suppose he could join you and then hide nearby and listen? It might be good to have a second pair of ears in there:_

 _:Absolutely not:_ It was all he could do not to shout it, which would have been ill-advised – Stef was already giving him a very suspicious look. _:Savil, if Leareth finds out about him, he’ll be in danger. No:_

 _:That’s true:_ Reluctant agreement. _:Speaking of Leareth. Ke’chara, I had a very concerning thought:_

 _:What?:_ She had it under control, but there was concealed fear in her mindvoice, not quite panic.

Her shoulders rose and fell. _:Sandra’s injury. Kilchas’ illness, before. And it’s not so long ago that we lost Etran. It’s starting to make me wonder–:_

Vanyel waited through her explanation, including the snippets about Shavri’s theory with Healing. When she mentioned Mindhealing, he interrupted. _:Can’t Melody confirm?:_

 _:Not yet. Sandra is too deeply unconscious:_ She squeezed his hand. _:We can check when she wakes up:_ An unspoken thought on its heels, not quite in Mindspeech but leaking through in fragments – _if_ she woke up, because there was no guarantee of it. Savil sighed. _:Could be I’m just a paranoid old woman, seeing patterns in innocent accidents:_

 _:…But it is the sort of thing he would do:_ It was hard to admit that – it felt wrong, like something even Leareth would admit was a betrayal. Still, he hadn’t actually promised to leave Valdemar alone past the initial year. Vanyel hadn’t asked for that oath; coaxing him to offer details of his plan had seemed like enough of a concession, and he hadn’t wanted to push.

Anger surged. He had spoken to the man last night as though nothing had happened.

Maybe it had really been an accident, he reminded himself. But it was going to be next to impossible to prove a negative – even if he asked Leareth to his face and the man swore he hadn’t done it, it would be irresponsible to take his words at face value.

_You can’t be sure. You’ll always be wondering now._


	17. Chapter Seventeen

It was nearly sunset.

Vanyel had dozed off sometime after Savil left, and had been asleep for a couple of candlemarks now. Stef sat rigid in the chair beside the bed, holding his hand. The place he really wanted to be was curled up next to him; he could barely keep his eyes open; but Vanyel would be mortified if anyone walked in on them sharing a bed, and there wasn’t really room for two in the cot anyway.

He reached to brush the hair back from Vanyel’s forehead. That much, he figured, he was allowed. Andrel hadn’t said anything about it, or even looked at them funny, which he appreciated.

The door opened. Stef managed not to jump this time.

“It’s just me.” Shavri’s voice was heavy with fatigue, and her shoulders drooped. “Andy, was wondering if you’d be willing to trade off and work with Sandra for awhile.”

The subtext was clear. Vanyel might be at risk enough that they wanted a senior Healer at his bedside at all times, but it wasn’t hard work, Sandra _was_ , and Shavri needed a break.

Andrel blinked, and then his expression cleared. “Right, of course. That seems fair.” He scraped back his chair and stood. “He’s been totally stable. No issues. I did a bit of Healing on his lungs once he fell asleep, but other than that I’ve just been holding an energy-link, and he’s not even drawing on it much.”

Shavri nodded, without surprise, and dragged a hand over her disarrayed curls. She gripped Andrel’s arm for a second, smiling tiredly, and then closed the door firmly on his retreating back.

When she turned, Stef saw that she wore a strange expression. Conflicted, he thought. Trying to make a decision, caught between two options.

A moment later, she crossed back to the chair and sat, resting her hand on Van’s shoulder.

He stirred, coughing, and lifted a hand to rub at his eyes. Yet again, Stef was amazed at how he could _feel_ Vanyel waking – the presence that was him brightening, reaching out. The instant his eyes were fully open, they turned towards Stef, a drowsy smile lighting his face.

Stef felt his intention form a moment before he started struggling to sit up, and found himself already leaning in, perching on the edge of the cot and offering the support of his hands.

Without rising, Shavri twisted around to retrieve the water-cup from the side table, and filled it from the jug. Vanyel accepted it with a grateful nod, and sipped cautiously.

Seconds passed in silence. A minute.

“Hey,” Stef said finally. He reached for his herb-tea; his throat felt scratchy again. “Are you two having a Mindspeech conversation without me?”

Shavri gave Vanyel a meaningful look. He shook his head, frowning.

“No,” she said out loud. “If you don’t tell him, I will.”

Vanyel glowered at her.

Stef cleared his throat. “Tell me what, exactly?” He was thoroughly tired of all the private Mindspeech conversations, and being left out.

Shavri raised her eyebrows in Vanyel’s direction.

 _:Fine:_ Again that odd feeling of Vanyel’s voice floating in his head. _:I owe you a confession:_ He took a slow breath. _:I did it on purpose:_

Stef blinked. “Did what on purpose?”

Vanyel avoided his eyes. His mindvoice took on a forced quality. _:I used Healing-Gift to stop my heart. So that I could, um, talk to the Shadow-Lover. I had questions:_

Stef leapt out of his chair, spilling lukewarm tea all over the floor. “What!” His voice screeched and cracked. “Why would you–”

“Keep your voice down,” Shavri said mildly. “Walls aren’t soundproofed.”

Stef closed his eyes and counted to ten. “You’re joking with me,” he said.

 _:No:_ The words were heavy with guilt.

Stef dropped into the chair a moment before his knees gave. “You’re saying. The Shadow-Lover is _real_?”

Shavri rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately.”

 _:I’ve spoken to him – well, this makes six times:_ Vanyel added. _:I guess I didn’t get to that part earlier. Sorry, my life is really weird and I keep forgetting you don’t know any of it:_

Stef’s hands were shaking. He clamped them together over his knee. “Why?” he choked out.

Shavri stood up. “And this part is private between the two of you. Van wouldn’t tell me. So I’m going to stand right outside the door – unfortunately I can’t keep an eye on him with Healing-Sight because of the shields, but Stef, you scream if anything happens and I’ll be right in.”

Stef, reluctantly, nodded.

The door closed on her back.

“Why?” Stef repeated.

Vanyel turned away, staring fixedly at the window. _:You’re going to be really angry with me:_

“I’m already angry with you!”

A long pause. Finally, Vanyel turned back, reluctantly meeting his eyes. _:It’s hard to explain, um, without the thing I still can’t tell you–:_

Heat rose in his chest, and behind his eyes. “No. _No._ You don’t get to give me that excuse.”

Vanyel closed his eyes. _:I…might die. There’s something coming, we don’t know how soon, and…:_ His jaw worked. _:I don’t want to do that to you, Stef. I know what a broken lifebond feels like, and it’s worse than you can imagine:_

Stef’s mind was already churning. Something coming. He had known for years already that whatever it was, Vanyel was afraid – and he had seen the army and the pass, so obviously artificial, cut to give foreign troops passage straight through into Valdemar. In that strange way of dreams, he had known, somehow, that he had to ride for help while Van held them off alone, because if they crossed there would be no stopping them–

“It’s Foresight,” he said dully. “Isn’t it?” It should have been goddamned obvious. “That army, they’re really coming.”

Vanyel didn’t react. He didn’t need to.

Stef rubbed his eyes, disbelieving. “So you tried to die on purpose now? How does that help with anything?”

 _:I wasn’t actually going to die!:_ Vanyel’s eyes rose to his face again, imploring. _:Almost certainly. Close to zero chance. The Shadow-Lover always lets me come back:_

“Still!” Stef found himself on his feet, nearly knocking the chair over. It was an effort not to shout, but both the thin walls and his still-hoarse voice demanded it. “Not zero! Don’t you think you should have _asked_ me? Or, I don’t know, not done that!”

Vanyel flinched, but said nothing to defend himself.

The walls seemed to be pressing in on him. Stef stormed over to the window and shoved it open.

 _:I’ll try to explain:_ Vanyel sent dully. _:All I wanted was for you to be safe and happy. You matter so much to me, and I couldn’t… Stef, I had the wrong idea about something, and I wouldn’t’ve done it if I’d known. I don’t – just – I can’t regret trying, given what I knew then:_ He bit his lip hard enough to raise a bead of blood. _:Still, it was incredibly disrespectful of me to do it unilaterally. Stef, I am sorry:_ The words seemed to fall one by one into his head, heavily, forced out with great effort. Vanyel shook his head, lips twisting into a bitter facsimile of a smile. _:Guess I’m still used to being on my own:_

Stef couldn’t think of anything at all to say, so he just glared out at the sky. It shouldn’t have been blue and bright; that was completely the wrong mood for this moment.

 _:Stef?:_ A sniffle, and when he turned, he saw that Vanyel was crying, hands over his face.

“Van?” he said, suddenly unsteady. “What–”

_:Stef, I know you have every right to be angry. Just, it’s really, really hard, right now, feeling you be this mad at me–:_

The worst part was, Stef could feel what Van was feeling as well. It was right there in his chest. Not quite regret – he _didn’t_ regret it, that much had been the truth – but shame and confusion and pain. 

Just like that, the rage drained out of him, leaving him cold and shaky. Stef stumbled over to the bed. “Van, no, I didn’t mean – it’s all right – I don’t want to hurt you. Please don’t cry.”

 _:I’m sorry:_ This time, the main emotion leaking through was embarrassment. _:I’m not normally this emotional–:_ He cut off. _:Sorry. My Companion says that’s completely false. I’m usually better at not bursting into tears though:_

Stef had no idea what he was supposed to say. “Hey, it’s all right. Can I…?” Stef dug in his tunic pocket and pulled out a fresh handkerchief. “Here.” He hesitated. “Van, can I come sit with–”

 _:Can you hold me?:_ The words slipped out, a desperate plea, and Vanyel immediately backtracked. _:I’m sorry, you don’t have to, I shouldn’t ask for–:_

“Will you please. Stop. Apologizing.” It was seriously grating on his nerves. He sat down on the side of the bed, and held out his arms. “Just come here. I’m not mad anymore, I swear.” _Please stop looking at me like that._ Vanyel’s utterly crushed expression made him feel like he was stepping on a baby animal

It felt absurdly like trying to coax said frightened baby animal to his hand with a morsel of food, but after a long hesitation, Vanyel did lean into his arms.

“Hey, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” Stef stroked his back. “Better now? Um, can you breathe okay like this?”

 _:I can breathe fine:_ The strain had left Vanyel’s mindvoice, and some of the tension in his body was draining away now as well.

“Mmm, good.” _Because I’m not letting you go._ A moment of strangeness – Herald-Mage Vanyel Demonsbane was crying in his arms, this had to be the most surreal thing that had ever happened to anyone – but, actually, it was quite far down the list in terms of bizarre recent events.

“You owe me the rest of the story,” he said quietly. “You didn’t finish. What were you actually trying to accomplish?”

 _:Right:_ Definite sheepishness; he wondered if Vanyel had been hoping he would forget. _:I know I have to tell you, Stef, just – don’t shout? Please?:_

“If I shout any more I’ll wreck my voice again.” He was already dangerously croaky; he really ought to stop talking soon, but they weren’t done. “Van, just tell me.”

_:I love you, Stef. I don’t want you to die, and I don’t want you to hurt the way I did. And…I thought it wasn’t fair. To you. Lifebonds aren’t voluntary:_

_He just said he loved me,_ Stef thought, wondering. And then kept going. Matter-of factly, like it was nothing, taken for granted. Not the hugest thing in the world, eclipsing everything else that had ever happened to him.

_:So I asked the Shadow-Lover to undo it:_

“What?” Stef managed not to scream, barely; it came out as a squeak. “Van, _what?_ You did this so – so – so you could stop being lifebonded to me?”

Vanyel made a strangled sound, coughing. _:Stef, you’re squashing me:_

“Oh.” His shoulders had tensed up, along with his entire body, which had in fact resulted in sort of crushing Vanyel. Probably ill-advised right now. He forced his arms to relax.

Part of him wanted to get up and storm away, stand by the window and glare from a distance, but at the same time, he didn’t want to let go.

“You wanted,” he said again, “to not be lifebonded to me anymore.” Like a sledgehammer to his chest. He hadn’t realized anything that wasn’t an actual physical injury could hurt this much, and he doubted painblocking would do anything about it.

_He doesn’t want me._

_:Stef, no–:_

“That’s what you just said.” His own voice sounded cold and distant. “That you risked dying to – to undo this. What we have. Us.” _He said he loved me…_

It was so strange, to be feeling that, the anger and betrayal, and still holding Vanyel in his arms, feeling _his_ guilt and desperate apology as well. He was weeping again, the wetness soaking Stef’s collar.

 _:I didn’t want to!:_ Pleading, almost frantic – Vanyel was definitely grovelling right now. _:I didn’t want to lose you – lose this – I was terrified. But I love you, so much, and I wanted to ruin your life even less. You’re precious, Stef. I didn’t – I couldn’t – be responsible for destroying that. I thought – if you never had to know – I could still have you in my life, for whatever time I have, but you could move on at the end of it. And I could know that no matter what, you were still alive and happy:_

Stef could see where the saying that it was impossible to lie in Mindspeech came from, even though Jisa said it wasn’t completely true; every word carried such depths of sincerity.

“Didn’t you think,” he hissed, “that you should have asked me how I felt about it? Seems you weren’t giving me a chance to choose, any more than whatever force made us bonded did.”

 _:I know. That’s completely fair, and I can understand why you’re angry:_ Vanyel curled into him. _:I told myself that you couldn’t choose freely because you were already bound to me and that meant of course you would want to keep it:_

Which was probably true, actually. Trying to ask himself whether he would choose it, if he _didn’t_ already feel this way about Van, was very strange. _I’ve loved him since I was twelve years old._ The Stef who hadn’t lived that wasn’t the same person at all; the hypothetical didn’t even make sense. 

And it didn’t matter. “I want it,” Stef said quietly. “I want this. You. Maybe that’s not something I can change – but it’s my mind. It wasn’t your right to change it either.”

_:Fortunately, I didn’t:_

The pulse of relief and joy made it completely obvious how Van felt about that. It left him shaky. “Shadow-Lover refused, huh?”

 _:Sort of. And…I learned something:_ Vanyel lifted his tearstained face, damp hair straggling over one eye. _:I love you and I want this. Us. I don’t know how long we have, but someone told me once – if you find something beautiful and precious in this awful world – you hold onto it as long as you can:_ A shudder. _:Will you forgive me?:_

He looked so incredibly miserable, Stef almost blurted out a reassurance just to make it stop _._ It wouldn’t be honest, though. He couldn’t summon the anger to the forefront right now, Vanyel’s warm weight in his arms was filling too much of his awareness, but it was still there.

Some word from a god’s lips had made Vanyel change his mind, but that didn’t undo the fact that he had tried in the first place. Maybe it was petty, to feel so deeply hurt and unsettled by something that _hadn’t_ happened, and yet.

“I’ll work on it,” he said. “We can talk about it later.”

Vanyel nodded. _:Suppose that’s all I can ask:_

Stef felt a smile coming to his lips; as long as Van was in grovelling mode, he might as well extract some concessions. “As long as you admit that you’re _mine_ now.”

_:I’m yours, Stef:_

“You belong right here.”

_:I belong right here:_

“You won’t ever do _anything_ like that to me again.”

Another shiver. _:I won’t. I promise:_

“That’s right.” Stef stroked his tangled hair. _Come on, say it. It’s not that hard._ And yet it was. Words he had never said to anyone before, not in his entire life. “I love you, Van- _ashke_.” It was a good pet name, Stef thought, even if he had come up with it on the fly.

A surprised indrawn breath, and then Vanyel relaxed again. _:I love you too:_

“I know. You said it multiple times.” A spurt of laughter escaped. He felt dizzy.

They weren’t done. For one, it was starting to loom larger that Vanyel hadn’t yet filled him in on anything, or made any attempt to get permission from Randi. Which was maybe unfair to expect, it had been less than a day and he was ill in bed, but it had been a very _long_ day.

He could set that aside, to be dealt with later. For now, he could bask in the fact that Vanyel seemed to have forgotten to be self-conscious about cuddling in not-quite-private.

* * *

It was well after sunset. Jisa should have been tired, given how little sleep she had gotten last night, but there was a singing tension in her veins. Fear, anticipation, and probably the additional half-cup of chava she had gulped down was contributing.

She knelt in front of Melody’s locked drawer in the silent, empty Mindhealers’ station, a lantern burning on the floor beside her. By dint of using her Thoughtsensing to pick the moment when no one was nearby, she had managed to creep down the hall and unlock the door unseen.

This was the moment of no return. _Am I going to do this, or not?_ She could still turn back, pretend this had never happened–

No. _I can’t lose my courage now._

She took the two metal hairpins from her pocket, and tried to still the trembling in her hands. Center and ground.

Stef had showed her how to pick locks over a year ago, on a lark, before he left for his Journeyman trial. She didn’t remember it as well as she had thought, and it took her a good five minutes of poking around with the hairpins before she had the thing open. Fortunately, she was in no hurry. No one was going to come in here until morning.

Shaking again, she reached in and drew out a fat stack of papers, separated into leather envelopes.

The trouble was that she knew Vanyel’s Gifts had something to do with Tylendel’s death, but she didn’t know the details. Asking him was a bad idea; asking anyone at all might rouse suspicion. There was a report in the secret Archives, but she couldn’t get in there. She had briefly considered asking Stef to help, but she _really_ didn’t want to make him break every rule along with her. Especially not for this, given his new relationship with Van.

Breaking into Melody’s records was less likely to get her arrested for treason, but in some ways it was a lot worse. Still, it was the one thing she could do with almost no risk of being caught.

Jisa set the pile down on the rug and spread out the envelopes, searching for a familiar name.

One of Melody’s decisions with the new Collegium had been to keep all the records on each patient in one place, written down, even if they switched between different Mindhealers. Jisa knew that their organized records now included a lot of Lancir’s old notes, after Terrill had given Jeren the assignment of sorting through them.

There. Melody’s neat script, etched into the leather. _Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron._ It was a lot plumper than most of the rest.

Jisa took a deep breath. _I’m going to be in so much trouble for this._ And deservedly so.

She reached in and slid out a fat sheaf of papers, ignoring the newer-looking bundle in Melody’s hand; she was careful not to even glance at the writing before immediately putting it back. She wanted the older papers, crinkly and yellow with age, bound simply with old string.

Squinting in the dim lamplight, lantern raised in one hand, she lifted it close to her face. The ink was faded, and Lancir had incredibly messy handwriting, but she could make it out.

_Autumn 789. Seen for broken lifebond.New-Chosen, Companion-bond still weak. Attempted a block, nothing to anchor it on. No intact structures left in his mind. Foundation ripped out, walls came down with it. No hearthfire left. Sees no reason to live._

Through a haze of tears, Jisa saw a pen-sketch under the words; she wondered if it was Lancir’s best attempt to capture what his Sight had showed. It looked like the remains of a cottage after a fire, she thought, collapsed and empty.

_Background: new strong Gifts, awakened traumatically via unusual method. Lifebonded to Herald-trainee Tylendel. Attempting a concert Gate via mage-potential when Tylendel’s Companion was killed. Left him on other side of Gate and called Final Strike. Gate remained stable, drawing from his life-force, until taken down by trainee, failed to ground, energy mistakenly sent through his dormant channels. Severe magical damage in addition to broken lifebond. Unsure of implications here._

Jisa was weeping now, but at least she managed to do it silently. She had learned enough; she didn’t need to keep going. She could put it away now, because this so incredibly wasn’t hers to read.

* * *

“How are you feeling, son?” Father’s voice, close to his ear.

Vanyel opened his eyes, groaning. He must have dozed off again; he hadn’t even heard the door open. Withen was lowering himself into the extra chair beside the bed, moving stiffly and grunting under his breath. _I knew he would throw his back out, carrying me like that._

He glanced sideways, not that it was necessary, he could sense Stef’s presence. His lifebonded – gods, even thinking the word was still strange and wonderful – was splayed across his chair, the reed-flute balanced loosely between his hands.

How was it fair for anyone to have such beautiful hands? Slender long fingers, graceful and delicate, tendons like wire under the skin. Stef’s dark red hair glowed like burnished copper in the candlelight. His eyes held that wary, calculating look again, and Vanyel could almost feel his mind racing, scheming, chasing down a dozen threads of where the conversation might be about to go.

…On reflection, staring so obviously at him with Father there wasn’t exactly being discreet. He tugged his eyes away, back to Withen’s face.

“I’ve been better.” He didn’t risk speaking above a whisper, and it still hurt his healing throat. His head ached as well, and he felt feverish again. Gemma, arriving for the night shift, had snorted and said of course he felt awful and he had probably set his recovery back by a week by being such an idiot. She had been blaming him in jest, teasing, but he knew it wasn’t a joke at all, and had apologized sincerely.

At least she had decided he was stable enough not to need a senior Healer’s supervision; he had been feeling increasingly guilty about diverting their attention from Sandra. There was a trainee there now, discreetly sitting in the corner with a book.

“You look like hell,” Father said. “Tried to die on us again this morning, I heard. Gave your mother a good fright.”

“Sorry.” He coughed, wincing.

“Shh. Don’t need to talk.” Withen’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Had something to say to you, son.”

 _Oh, no._ He could guess where this was going, and he wasn’t looking forward to it at all.

“You and Stef…?” Withen trailed off expectantly, glancing between the two of them before lowering his eyes.

Of course. Mother had assumed they were together – back when that wasn’t even true yet – and of course she had told Father. Lying about it was a stupid idea. All he could do was nod, grimacing. _I really didn’t want to get shouted at again today._

Withen swallowed again, the back of his neck reddening. “I just…wanted to say…”

Vanyel tensed, his stomach churning. _He’s going to tell me it’s inappropriate. That I need to stop robbing the cradle and give him up._ Right in front of Stef. How in all hells was he supposed to manage Father without badly hurting Stef’s feelings?

Well, if it came to that, he could beg Yfandes’ help in finding the right words. She was there listening in the back of his mind, silent for now, but offering a quiet reassurance.

“Congratulations, son.” The words were forced, and a vein pulsed in Withen’s forehead, but he sounded sincere. “I hope you make each other very happy. Your mother’s been wishing for this a long time.” He gulped. “And…I’m sorry you were afraid to tell us. I know that’s my fault.”

Oh. Gods. He dared a glance sideways at Stef, who was doing his best to look very serious.

“Father, I wasn’t…” He swallowed against the aching lump in his throat. “I didn’t keep it from you. Wasn’t until yesterday that it was, um, official.”

“Oh.” Withen blinked. “I thought…the way he looks at you…”

Vanyel glanced over at Stef, who was looking increasingly amused. “Seems I was in denial.”

Withen clapped his shoulder. “Then I have to be grateful for your Herald-Mage Lissandra’s foolery, if it took nearly dying to slap some sense into you.”

Vanyel coughed, bringing a hand to his mouth. _Please don’t make me laugh._

“Stef,” Father went on, turning to face him. “We’re, er, very glad that it’s you. My wife adores you, you should know. Our own Medren’s best friend…” He cleared his throat. “Well, you were practically part of the family already.”

Vanyel’s cheeks were hot now. Listening to Father being sappy was one of the most disconcerting experiences he had ever had.

“Thank you, Lord Ashkevron.” Stef’s voice was smooth, his face controlled, but a dozen complex emotions flashed through his eyes, echoed in Vanyel’s chest across their bond. Surprise, gratitude, and something like awe, almost painful in its intensity. And disbelief, a tense skepticism that rose and blurred the rest.

 _He’s never had a family before,_ Vanyel remembered. It wasn’t easy to catch Stef off guard, but words like Father’s would do it.

Without thinking, he reached out with his mind. _:Stef, he’s not just saying it to be polite. He really means it:_ Shocking as that seemed. Father was a terrible liar.

* * *

Jisa stood in the doorway to the office of the King’s Own, trying to look very serious and grown-up. She cleared her throat. “Dara?”

The young King’s Own looked up. She was still working, even though it was quite late now. “Oh. Jisa, what is it?”

The sword glinted at her hip. “My mother sent me,” Jisa lied. “She asked if she could have Need back for the night.”

“Oh. Is she feeling tired? She must be, it’s been a godawful few days.” Dara jumped up. “Of course. Pass on my regards.”

That had been a lot easier than she expected. “Thank you.” Jisa hoped her unsteady voice wasn’t going to give her away. Working with Melody had given her a lot of practice at controlling her reactions, but she was still a bad liar.

Dara held out the sheathed sword, hilt-first, and Jisa took it.

 _:You certainly are, girl:_ A dusty voice in her head. _:I wouldn’t have believed that for a second:_

Jisa did her best to smooth over the surprise before it could show on her face. She didn’t answer, just turned and marched away, tucking the sword under her cloak; it wasn’t really cold enough to need a cloak, but she had taken it for exactly that purpose. She didn’t relax until she was out in the gardens, hiding between two hedgerows.

A chuckle in her head. _:You’re a woman on a mission. Care to tell me why you’ve kidnapped me?:_

 _:I didn’t kidnap you:_ Jisa used private, carefully-shielded Mindspeech, just in case anyone nearby, though her Thoughtsensing ought to have picked them up. _:You wanted me in the first place. Didn’t you?:_

A surprised snort. _:You’re a sharp one:_

 _:My mother thinks I’m not old enough yet:_ Jisa squared her shoulders. _:But I need your help:_

The feel of raised eyebrows, a beady-eyed mental stare. _:Do tell:_

No going back. _:I need you to awaken my mage-potential. There’s something very important I have to do, and I need to be able to protect myself. And other people:_

The sense of someone gasping in her head, and for a moment, the sword seemed lost for words.

 _:You don’t dream small, girl:_ The voice was reluctantly impressed.

 _:I know what you need to do:_ Jisa pressed on. _:You need to bond with me, and then you need to raise a Gate through my mage-potential. And then take it down, but not properly, you need to backwash the energy through me. That will open my channels:_

It had taken her a whole candlemark to think of the setup for it, walking around by herself in the dark after sneakily returning everything to its place, re-locking Melody’s door, and creeping out the way she had come. She wasn’t lifebonded to a mage, like Uncle Van had been. But the sword could raise a Gate from someone else’s potential, or at least she hoped so. In which case she might have a chance of making the same thing work.

 _:I see you’ve given this some thought:_ Jisa had the feeling of someone peering at her, looking her over. _:It’s a damnedfool plan, girl. Do you want to get yourself killed?:_

 _:It’ll work:_ she sent, stubbornly. _:It won’t be fun but it won’t kill me. I should probably do it somewhere close-ish to Healers’ though:_

The mental sound of a throat being cleared. _:Note that I haven’t agreed to help you, girl:_

 _:You will:_ She was certain of it. _:Because I’m a woman, and right now I can’t protect myself. If you help me be a mage, I promise I’ll rescue women my whole life. And I won’t need your help, so we can both do it at the same time and save twice as many. And my father is King – I can convince him to change the laws so that men who do bad things to women get sent to gaol, and I’ll do whatever else it takes. I know what you care about. I can help you with it:_ She had decided not to mention anything to Need about Treven, or her potentially being Queen. It still felt very private, and besides, she didn’t know for sure yet. She had only been guessing that she was about to be Chosen.

Another chuckle, like dead leaves in the wind. _:Not much of a bluff. You would do all that anyway. Don’t pretend otherwise:_

 _:Well, yes. But I can do it better if I’m a mage:_ The carrot first. Now the stick. _:If you don’t help me, I’ll throw you down the well over there:_

A yelp. _:You wouldn’t!:_

 _:I would:_ It was hard to stare down someone who didn’t have a body, but Jisa tried her best. Someone would find the blade eventually, of course. Still, it might take them quite a long time to fish her out.

She felt a tickle, someone reaching into her mind, then a wrenching urge to move her limbs.

 _:No:_ She tightened her shields. _:I’m not your plaything to control:_ And she clamped an external shield down over the sword as well. No need to let her mindcall for help, if that was something she was capable of.

Dead silence.

Then a chuckle, starting off small, rising to a roaring belly-laugh. _:Oh, Jisa, Jisa, Jisa:_ The feeling of someone affectionately smacking her ear. _:By the Twain, you drive a hard bargain. I respect that in a woman, you know:_

 _:You’ll do it?:_ Jisa had thought she was sure it would work, but she must not have been, because the relief made her almost dizzy.

 _:You’re hardly giving me much choice:_ Still chuckling. _:Do you even know my name?:_

 _:You’re Need:_ Though Shavri had mostly called her ‘that goddamned thing’ in her earshot. Jisa decided against mentioning that.

 _:Yes. Not the name I was born with, but it’s as good as any, it seems:_ A pause. _:Look at my hilt:_

Jisa raised the lantern again, peering at the strange script. _:I can’t – oh:_ It was shifting before her eyes – or, no, the change was in her head. She could almost feel the ancient magic tugging at her mind; it should have been unsettling, but it wasn’t.

_Woman's Need calls me. As Woman's Need made me, her Need I must answer, as my maker bade me._

And then it was illegible again, but she had seen enough. She had felt something take root in her, curling around her center – not like her nascent bond with Treven, it didn’t cut nearly so deep, but like a vine reaching in from the outside, sending out prodding tendrils. Reading her innards, and declaring her good enough.

 _:Let’s go:_ Need sent. _:Since you’ve planned everything else, I assume you have a place in mind:_

Jisa nodded. _:Sandra’s Work Room:_ She knew for a fact that no one was using it, and she still had the key she had stolen that one time for her contest with Stef. She had been planning to put it back, but Sandra hadn’t even been suspicious, she had just complained about always misplacing things and had a new one made. _:I nicked Savil’s practice-setup for it:_ she added. _:If we build both ends in there, no one will detect it:_ She had wondered if she ought to build a full-size Gate – Van had, or rather Tylendel had – but it was probably safer to at least try it with a little baby Gate. She could always go ahead and take the bigger risk if it didn’t work.

* * *

Shavri rested her hand on Sandra’s chest. _:Just here, Gemma. See if you can do it:_

Shift change had come and passed candlemarks ago. Andrel had left, and Shavri longed for her own bed – or a few minutes with Randi, or her daughter – but she was still needed. She had been sitting with the unconscious Herald-Mage for a candlemark, coaxing down the swelling in her airways before it could block off her breathing. It was delicate work, and she was still the best at it.

Earlier, she had talked Aber into trying one of her ideas, carefully pushing a hollow steel needle – borrowed from Sandra’s own alchemy-setup, actually – in between the woman’s ribs, and draining out the fluid accumulating between the delicate membranes around her lungs.

Sandra was stable enough now, but only as long as she had a strong Healer constantly holding an energy-link. The massive inflammation in her lungs as her body tried to heal itself was incredibly counterproductive, and Shavri had spent countless candlemarks wrestling with those processes. She hadn’t slept more than two candlemarks at a stretch since it had happened, and she had seen Randi only in snatches. _I miss you so much, love._ He was managing all right, he had claimed earlier that day, but she knew it for a lie.

_:Shavri!:_

A desperate Mindcry. It took her a moment to recognize Keiran. _:What is it?:_ Oh, gods, if it was Randi… But she hadn’t felt anything through the lifebond.

_:Come right now. It’s Jisa:_

Shavri was already on her feet, heart singing in her ears. “Sorry, Gemma, have to – Jisa’s in trouble–” _:Keiran, I’m coming. What’s wrong?:_

 _:Found her on the path by Sandra and Kilchas’ suite:_ Keiran’s mindvoice was very controlled, but not enough to conceal the panic underneath. _:She must have crawled there. She’s not responding to me, I think she’s hurt, but I can’t see–:_

 _:I’ll be right there!:_ And she reached back. _:Gemma, get another room ready. Ask Savil for shielding:_

No sign of alarm in Gemma’s answer, though she was already on her feet. “Nali, stay with her, absolutely do not let go of the energy-link. Scream if you need help.” _:Shavri, who?:_

 _:My daughter:_ And she ran.

Keiran reached out again. _:She’s got your sword:_

 _:Need?:_ Thank the gods. She didn’t care why or how. Need was a Healer, that was the only part that mattered.

She was gasping for breath by the time she reached the Heralds’ wing, tearing down the path that led to the rooms Sandra and Kilchas shared. Had shared. Unclear if the pair of them would ever be able to live on their own again.

“Here!”

A shout, and Shavri spun and skidded in the mud, nearly falling, but caught her balance and sprinted for the white figure glowing under the moon.

Jisa lay sprawling on the path, half-covered in mud, bits of grass clinging to her clothing and her hair – no, those were flowers, lovingly braided in place.

“Jisa!” She clutched for her daughter’s cold hands. “Jisa, wake up. Please wake up. Mama’s here.”

Jisa only moaned.

At least she was breathing. Shavri reached in confidently with her Gift, establishing a link in seconds – for years, she had Healed her daughter’s childhood illnesses, and she knew the shape of her life-force well.

Jisa was in shock, her pulse rapid, her breathing shallow. But alive.

 _:Jisa?:_ she tried.

–Her daughter screamed. Not a sound that should have come from a human throat; it could have shattered glass. She convulsed, twitching in the mud.

 _No no no–_ Shavri held her head, cushioning it from the gravel. The fit only lasted about ten seconds, and then Jisa was limp again. Still breathing, but barely.

 _:Please don’t:_ Need grumbled in her head. _:Last thing I need is for you to make my job harder, damn it:_

She was an idiot; she hadn’t even thought to ask. _:Need, did you see what happened?:_

No answer, only silent sheepishness. And guilt.

 _:Need:_ The anger was already rising in her, hot and bitter. _:Did you take my daughter out to fight and let her get injured? I told you she’s not old enough!:_ She could barely form coherent Mindspeech, she was so angry. _:If you’ve hurt her, I’ll, I’ll–:_ There was nothing she could think of that was bad enough.

Her energy-link was faltering, and she forced her breathing to slow. Center and ground. Jisa needed her.

 _:I’m sorry:_ A very, very small voice. _:She made me do it:_

_:What?:_

_:Your goddamned daughter blackmailed me!:_ A whimper. _:I didn’t think it would be this bad:_

The anger had crystallized down into something clear and hard and sharp as broken glass. _:Need. You didn’t think what would be this bad?:_

Silence.

 _:Tell me:_ Shavri sent icily.

Despite not having a body, Need seemed to be trying to shrink into herself. _:She had a plan:_

_:A plan to do what?:_

A long pause.

_:Tell me!:_

Need flinched away from her. _:To awaken her mage-potential:_

 _:WHAT?:_ Nearly falling over with shock, Shavri did lose hold of the energy link. She scrabbled for Jisa’s center again.

 _:She forced me to raise a concert-Gate using her energy:_ Need was almost blubbering. _:And then – I wasn’t going to, I got nervous and I was going to back out – but she HIT me. Distracted me and tore it down:_

Oh. No. _:Did it work?:_

 _:Unfortunately:_ Another terrified moan. _:Please don’t throw me down a well:_

 _:You deserve it:_ There wasn’t much point in recriminations right now, though. Shavri had other priorities; no matter what, Jisa came first. _:Her channels are ripped to shreds, aren’t they?:_ Shavri’s own Sight couldn’t show her that, but feeling around blindly, she had the sense that something was badly wrong.

 _:She didn’t tell me that would happen! She said it would hurt but she’d be fine:_ A half-sob. _:I thought she knew what she was getting into:_

How had she known at all? The plan was obviously inspired by what had happened to poor Van, eighteen years ago – but Jisa shouldn’t have known. Shavri had never told her anything about her ‘Uncle Van’s’ past; it was too horrific a story for a child’s ears. Unless Van had decided to tell her… Fresh anger surged, but she cut it off. He hated talking about it so much, it seemed unlikely, and besides, even if he had, it was his tale to share if he wanted – it was his life, and Jisa was his daughter – and he couldn’t ever have guessed what she would do with the information.

His daughter. Which really put her initial, quickly-suppressed thought into perspective. _That’s the most Vanyel plan I’ve ever heard._

Now wasn’t the time to be furious about it – she could worry about yelling at Jisa for doing something so idiotic later, once they knew she would survive. _Please be all right. Please please please._ A pointless prayer to gods that surely weren’t listening.

Under the raw terror that threatened to drown her, a whisper rose. _You have to admit, it worked._

How had Jisa known?

Not important right now. _:Gemma:_ she reached out. _:I need backup. Now:_

* * *

Vanyel rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on his aunt’s face. She had just prodded him out of a sound sleep. _:Savil, what?:_

_:Ke’chara, something awful just happened:_

“What’s going on?” Stef was scrambling up from his bedroll in the corner. “Herald-Mage Savil?”

“Jisa’s hurt,” his aunt said out loud. “Stef, actually, they could use your help. Do you mind leaving Van for a bit to–”

 _:I’ll be fine–:_ Vanyel started, but Stef was already bolting for the door, casting an apologetic look over his shoulder. 

The last dregs of grogginess were falling away. _:Savil, what happened?:_

For a moment Savil was silent, head bowed. She was trembling.

Real panic was rising now, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. _:Savil, tell me:_

 _:She stole Need:_ Savil sent, _:and somehow arm-twisted her into raising a Gate via her mage-potential, and then knocked it down and ripped open her own channels:_ A heavy sigh. _:She’s a mage now. And just as ill as you were:_

 _:Oh, gods:_ It was suddenly impossible to breathe. _:How did she–:_

 _:Did you tell her?:_ Savil’s mindvoice was jagged. _:Did you tell her what happened with you and Tylendel? Because no one else will confess to it:_

 _:No!:_ He struggled to sit up, and then gave up as a coughing fit racked his body. Somehow, he kept hold of the Mindspeech link. _:Savil, I swear, I didn’t. She knew I was lifebonded, but she guessed that on her own:_ He hadn’t, that he recalled, shared even as much as ‘Lendel’s name with her, let alone the fact that he had been a trainee Herald-Mage. _:I never told her how my Gifts were awakened:_

Think. What if– _:Oh, no:_

_:What, ke’chara?:_

_:Stef:_ They were best friends, and his lifebonded might well have told Jisa what he knew, if she had asked.

…But no, he hadn’t known enough either. He had admitted to dragging the tale out of Medren years ago, but only what his roommate had known of it, which included the Gate, but not that it was related to Vanyel’s Gifts, nor the lifebond.

 _:You think he–:_ Savil started, alarm and a hint of anger rising.

 _:No:_ He couldn’t let her unfairly blame him. _:Stef didn’t – oh! Jisa did know about my Gate-sensitivity. Maybe she guessed my Gifts were related to it:_ He couldn’t see how she could have put together that it had been the Gate coming down messily that had done it, though, rather than just his lifebonded working through his mage-potential at all, or Tylendel’s death, or just the fact that it had been traumatic and scary.

And yet she had clearly put that much together, or else she would never have made the connection that the same trick would work with Need.

 _:How did she even know that Need could do concert-Gates?:_ he interjected. _:We never told her about the Tower:_ It was a closely-held state secret, known only within the Senior Circle.

 _:We don’t know:_ Savil admitted.

Jisa was very talented at overhearing things that weren’t her business; they had established that years ago. Maybe she could have pieced together Need’s abilities from her parents’ careless remarks, but not the part about Tylendel. No one talked about it.

He was stuck. Think about it later. Jisa was far too clever for her own good; maybe she really had assembled the whole puzzle from hints and fragments. To her detriment. He knew why his mind was fixating on that puzzle – it was a concrete question, something to focus on instead of the shock – but it wasn’t relevant to the immediate future. _:Savil, is she going to be all right?:_

 _:Well, you were:_ But her mindvoice was worried. _:Eventually, at least. And we do know a lot more now – Shavri can work on Healing her channels, once I go lend her my mage-sight, and Stef can painblock so we don’t need to drug her. I tossed up some basic shields, but they’re preparing to move Sandra out of the shielded room and swap them – they’re keeping Sandra under for now anyway, and my temporary shielding won’t hold up if Jisa starts throwing her new Gift around:_

 _:She’s strong?:_ Vanyel wasn’t sure if the sudden tightness in his gut was fear, or hope. They had no way of knowing for sure what Jisa had been thinking, but he could guess. _She knew we needed more mages._

And she had come up with a plan, somehow, and it had worked.

 _:Not as strong as you, thank the gods:_ Savil answered, _:but probably Adept-potential:_ A complex wash of overtones; predominantly fear and worry, but there was relief there as well, and something like gratitude, shaded by guilt.

He saw her eyes dart to the trainee sitting quietly in the corner. _:Ke’chara, we’re keeping what happened a secret. Gemma and Andrel are the only other Healers who know – the rest think it’s a head injury:_

_:Wait, why?:_

Savil looked away. _:In case Leareth really is after our mages. If it’s known that Jisa is mage-gifted, she might be in danger:_

Which was awfully paranoid, but might still be a precaution worth taking. _:Oh. Right:_

 _:I need to go now:_ She brushed her hand across his forehead. _:You’ll be all right?:_

He gestured with his chin at the Healing-trainee still parked in his chair. _:I’ll be fine, aunt. Jisa needs you more:_

Alone – well, not alone, but close enough – he reached for Yfandes. _:Did you hear?:_

 _:Yes:_ Matching worry and fear in her mindvoice. _:The herd’s in an uproar, Chosen:_

 _:Because she’s Randi’s daughter?:_ It would devastate the King if she died.

_:No. Because she was to be Chosen tomorrow. Her Enara was waiting for the perfect moment:_

_:Oh:_ That was…it couldn’t be a coincidence. It did make a lot of sense for Jisa to be Chosen if she was to be a mage – in fact, it would be problematic if not, given the wariness towards non-Heralds practicing mage-craft inside Valdemar – but Yfandes was making it sound like that decision had already been made.

If Jisa had already been Chosen, he doubted her Companion would have let her go along with a plan that chancy. Not as a brand-new trainee, and especially not given her relation to Randi.

Had she somehow known?

On the one hand, it had been a huge risk, and it sounded like Jisa wasn’t out of danger yet. How close had she come to dying? The sick fear threatened to blot out all thought.

Focus. _Center and ground._

On the other hand, they _were_ desperately short on Herald-Mages. It was a horrible thought, but Jisa’s new Gift might make the difference if it came down to a war with Leareth. He had picked up some of that realization from Savil as well.

–Was it awful to think of his own daughter that way, as just another tool to be wielded against Valdemar’s enemies?

Maybe, but this had undeniably been Jisa’s choice.

 _:What does Rolan think?:_ he sent.

 _:…He doesn’t seem surprised:_ A note of confusion in Yfandes’ mindvoice. _:Other than that, whatever he thinks, he’s keeping to himself:_

Maybe he knew something that the rest of the herd didn’t.

What, though?

Jisa, Chosen. He hadn’t seen it coming, even though he had wondered dozens of times over the years. She was so strongly Gifted, and whatever spark a Herald needed, she had more than enough of it.

Maybe that was why he had stopped expecting it. Jisa, like his sister, was the sort of person who didn’t need a Companion to be a hero.

How did he feel about it?

Jisa, he was sure, would be ecstatic. He still had some of her toddlerhood drawings of Heralds and Companions pinned to his walls. He recalled her playing with the foals in Companions’ Field. Most children of Valdemar grew up idealizing Companions, and his daughter was no exception.

Still. Was this what he wanted for her?

She would be sharing her mind with a god-touched being. One who would _change_ her, shaping her in ways that he might or might not approve of. That part hurt to think about – whether or not it made sense, it felt like losing something precious.

* * *

If Jisa had known it was possible to hurt this much, she wouldn’t have been brave enough.

 _Am I dying?_ She couldn’t possibly be in so much pain otherwise. Everything was molten agony. She was lost in it, a bit of flotsam, tumbling through a storm that went on forever.

_Just make it stop please please please–_

No. Jisa fought against the pain that blotted out all thought, carving out a tiny island that was hers. She couldn’t find her center, couldn’t even hold onto her own breathing, but there was enough space for words, a few of them.

_I did it._

She clung to that, repeating it over and over, a litany to hold her crumbling sanity together.

_I did it. Worth it._

She was going to be a mage. And she was going to survive it, damn it, no matter how much it hurt. _Just hang on. You can do this._

Cling to that, and try to block out the fear that maybe she couldn’t, that she wasn’t strong enough.

She had to believe it would end.

Had to believe it would be worth it, or else–

The pain stopped.

For a moment all she could do was float in the darkness, adrift – still lost, but it was hard to care. Somewhere far away, someone was playing a tin-whistle. It sounded awful, but it was soothing anyway, a lullaby rocking her in its wake.

Someone else was softly calling her name. “Jisa.”

She had to find her way back to her body, but it was hard. Tempting to stay in the quiet dark forever. She was so tired…

“Jisa, come back to me.” It was her mother’s voice. “I love you, Jisa. Wake up.”

And then another voice, pulling deep inside her. “Jisa, it’s me. I’m here.”

Treven. She couldn’t _not_ answer.

She followed his voice, and the world came back, unfolding like a flower. She found that she was lying in a bed. Her limbs were still deadweight, numb and out of reach, but she could hear the voices more clearly now.

She opened her eyes.

It felt like it should have hurt, but it didn’t. The blur resolved into her mother’s face.

“Mama,” she croaked. “M’sorry…”

“You’d better be.” But Shavri’s voice was gentle. “We’re going to look after you, sweet. You just rest, now.” A pause. “And someone wants to greet you.”

Jisa frowned, confused, and then a white muzzle appeared over the side of the bed, and two huge blue eyes, surrounded by long white lashes, stared into hers. It was like they held the whole sky.

 _:My name is Enara:_ a woman’s voice said in her mind _:and I Choose you, Jisa:_

Jisa let go, and fell headfirst into the blue.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

_I feel like I could sleep for a hundred years._

Stumbling down the path towards Bardic, trying his best not to weave for a drunkard, Stef felt like he was half-dreaming. The sun was a hand’s breadth above the horizon and already far too bright for his aching eyes; the air was pleasantly cool, soothing on his dry skin. His face felt ready to crack and peel off every time he yawned.

He had sat with Jisa and painblocked until the early hours of the morning, at which point Shavri had kicked him out and taken over. Stef could only vaguely remember making his way back to Van’s room, and it seemed that sheer exhaustion _was_ like being drunk – he had ignored the bedroll in the corner and, without really thinking about it, crawled into the tiny rim of space left in the cot and curled up with his arms wrapped around Vanyel. In hindsight, it might have been awfully presumptuous, but he did remember Vanyel half-waking, greeting him with a drowsy Mindtouch and shifting over to make room.

The Healers’ voices outside at shift change had woken him, and the painful crick in his neck had driven him to get up and stretch, at which point he had realized how incredibly disgusting he felt – he had been wearing the same tunic for a day and a half. He still hadn’t wanted to leave, but Savil had arrived and must have noticed his restlessness. She had tried to shoo him out, urging him to take his time and promising she would stay with Van until he got back; even then, he had hesitated until Andrel came in and woke Vanyel for an assessment. Van had shared a brief Mindspeech conference with Savil, and then Mindtouched him and said, fondly, that he had better go take a good bath if he wanted to be allowed back in the bed.

Stef _still_ felt guilty about it. Which was stupid, no one would expect him to stay literally all the time, but being away from Vanyel made him uneasy.

He hoped Jisa was doing better. Savil had been tight-lipped when he asked after her, saying only that she was stable. It was incredibly frustrating that no one would tell him what was actually _wrong_ with her – they must have been talking about it, but it had all been in Mindspeech. She was in agony, but he couldn’t see any physical injuries. He had overheard Gemma telling one of the other Healers it was a head injury, but that didn’t seem right, surely there would have been some visible sign of it.

Well, she did have all the best Healers in the Kingdom working on her. Whatever it was, surely she was going to be all right.

The sunlight, and exertion of walking, cleared some of the glue in his head. For the first time in days, he had a moment’s space to think.

Damn it, he couldn’t wait for Vanyel to be recovered enough that he could go back to his own rooms, where neither of them would have to worry about the discretion of various random Healing-trainees. _Why did I have to find out we were lifebonded right when he’d gotten himself almost killed?_ It was so inconvenient. It was taking all of Stef’s self-control to keep his hands off Vanyel when someone was there, and it wasn’t like they had been able to do more than hold hands and cuddle even when they were alone. It was so weird, he had told Van he loved him and they hadn’t even _kissed_ properly, not since the humiliating incident at Lady Treesa’s party. Stef wasn’t used to being chaste, and patience wasn’t one of his strengths.

They hadn’t talked about it at all. Surely Vanyel would be interested in, well, further intimacy once he was recovered. Right? They were lifebonded. Stef hadn’t even considered the possibility that he might not be, or might want more time to get used to the idea – which, damn it, he probably would, he could be so unbearably prudish. _If he says anything about my age making it inappropriate, I might actually push him out a window–_

He gritted his teeth. _I’ll cope._ He could be patient. It was worth it.

Hard to believe how completely his life had changed in the last four days. What had he even been doing in the minutes before he found himself sprinting for Healers’? Whatever it was, it had been a thousand times less important than what had come next.

There were still so many loose ends, unaddressed in the chaos. Vanyel was Foreseer. He had Seen a vision of an army marching on Valdemar – from the north, it had to be, nowhere else could be that goddamned cold.

Vanyel had reason to expect he was going to die.

Even thinking about it opened into an abyss. _I can’t lose him I can’t I can’t I can’t–_

Vanyel’s mindvoice had been calm, when he said those words. He was terrified, but not of dying.

 _He’s afraid of hurting me._ Vanyel had wanted to shelter him from that abyss, badly enough that he had sought out the avatar of a god, and put himself through a very unpleasant experience even if he was right that he hadn’t actually been risking his life.

Another pit of confusion. _The Shadow-Lover always lets me come back_. Surely that wasn’t a normal thing to happen.

It still stung, thinking about what Vanyel had done, but with space to think, Stef could recognize that it wasn’t a contradiction for Vanyel to say he loved him, and still have tried to undo the lifebond. _He wanted to protect me._ The way he had gone about it was galling – _if you never had to know_ , like that somehow made it better – and yet.

 _I could still have you in my life,_ and the hope had echoed so clearly in his mindvoice, _but you could move on at the end of it._

…Would that have been a better version of the world? There were plenty of people who fell in love without being lifebonded.

_For whatever time I have._

_If you find something beautiful and precious in this awful world, you hold onto it as long as you can._

From a perfectly objective outside perspective, maybe that world was better for Stef – but not for Vanyel, who had been living with a broken lifebond for half his life.

Who had been willing to go back to that, unhesitating, if it meant he could shelter Stef from the same thing. There was a horrifying kind of courage there.

 _I had the wrong idea about something, and I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known._ What exactly had Van realized in speaking to the Shadow-Lover? Stef had gone over every word in that conversation a dozen times, and he was still confused. Another trailing piece, and he had to wait patiently for answers, rather than going in and shaking Vanyel until he coughed up an explanation – it really wasn’t a good time, especially with Jisa’s mysterious injury – but it still niggled.

Stef blinked, stumbling to a halt as the path ahead vanished into nothing. _Where am I?_ He had been completely lost in thought, and it seemed like he had accidentally walked right past Bardic and all the way to the river. He stared at the water for a moment. The Terrilee rode high in its banks after the spring rains, white foam dancing around the rocks.

Shaking his head, he turned away and started to retrace his steps.

Unlocking the door to their room, he was distantly surprised to see Medren there, in the process of getting dressed. Which made perfect sense, the morning classes would be starting soon, but Stef was starting to lose all sense of time being real.

“Heya,” he said dully.

“You look like hell, Stef.” Medren finished tying the laces on his trews, and crossed the room, taking his shoulders. “Is something wrong? Uncle Van–”

“Vanyel’s fine.” Stef looked longingly at his bed, but if he lay down now he wasn’t going to move again for the next day. It took him a moment to remember why he had even come – right, for clean clothes. If only the wardrobe weren’t all the way across the room.

He wondered if Medren knew about Jisa. If not, he didn’t feel like explaining – turning thoughts to words was too much effort, which was a bizarre experience for Stef.

Medren was still looking into his face, eyebrows raised. “Stef, are you and Van…?”

“What have you heard?” Stef said, suspicious.

“Well, Lady Treesa has been telling all her friends about her son’s new romantic conquest–”

“Oh. Gods.” Vanyel wasn’t going to be pleased to hear that at all. He gave in to temptation and leaned heavily on the wall. “Medren… We’re lifebonded.”

For a moment, Medren just stared at him, mouth open. He rubbed his eyes. “Oh. Really?”

“Really. I know, it’s hard to believe.”

“No, no, it’s not – Stef, everything about you makes _so_ much more sense knowing that.”

“Does it?” Standing was suddenly too much effort. Stef let himself slide down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. He _probably_ wouldn’t fall asleep there by accident.

Medren hesitated, then squatted next to him. “Aren’t you happy? I’d’ve expected you to be over the moon.”

“I am.” He shook his head. “Medren, it’s just – everything’s so complicated. If any more weird things happen to me, I think my head might fall off and go bouncing down the hallway. And I’m _tired.”_ A plaintive edge had crept into his voice; he was definitely whining.

“You didn’t sleep last night?” Alarm in his roommate’s eyes. “Did Van have a problem again?”

“No, something else. Tell you later.”

Medren paused, his eyes thoughtful, but he didn’t press. “Stef, this makes three nights you haven’t really slept. You’re going to make yourself ill.”

“Stop being a mother-hen.” Stef tried to smile. “I’m around the Healers all the time. They wouldn’t let me get away with it.”

“And you’re overusing your Gift,” Medren went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “Stef, I’m allowed to be worried about you. That’s what friends do, right?”

Which was incredibly transparent manipulation, an old trick that had worked when Stef was an ignorant orphan fresh off the streets, but he didn’t have the energy to do more than roll his eyes. “Medren, I promise I’ll take a nap. Later.” He cast a helpless glance at the door, which seemed unfairly far away. “I was going to bathe.”

“Oh, is that why you’re here?” Medren rose, heading for the wardrobe. “Let’s go, then. I’ll bring a tunic for you to change into.”

“Medren, I’m not a toddler. I can take a bath on my own–”

“I might actually believe that if you weren’t halfway to falling asleep on the floor. Come on, get up.”

Stef let himself be hauled to his feet. Dizzy for a moment, he was grateful for Medren’s firm grip on his shoulders. _I should eat something._ The Healers had been quite good about bringing him tea unprompted, but he had to remember to ask for food, and he hadn’t been.

His mind was drifting back, unmoored. “You’re not upset?”

“What? Why would I be upset?”

“I don’t know. Just, me and Van, and he’s your uncle–”

Medren laughed aloud. “You’re worried I might feel weird about it? Stef, I’m the opposite of upset. This is the best news I’ve had all _year_. I wouldn’t ever have thought…”

“Me neither.” Even though it felt like some part of him must have always known. “Medren, gods, I wish…there’s so much I want to tell you, but I shouldn’t–” At the very least, not without asking Vanyel, even if _he_ knew that Medren could keep a secret.

“I understand.” No sign of hurt. “Stef, listen. I’m very happy for both of you, but I get that it’s a lot to absorb, and with everything else that’s going on… It makes a lot of sense if you’re feeling overwhelmed.” His hazel eyes were earnest, his entire face a study in attentive listening – Medren could make anyone let down their guard with that trick. “I’m here for you,” he finished. “Whatever you need.”

“I know. I appreciate it, Medren.” And maybe there were a few things he could ask for advice on. Before now, he would have laughed at the idea that his roommate was more ‘experienced’ than he was in any sense, but there was a world of difference between a fling that lasted a night and an ongoing relationship, and Stef was starting to realize he had no idea how to approach the latter. Medren had at least seen the same girl for an entire summer, that one time.

* * *

Morning light stabbed between the curtains, unwanted. _Just go away,_ Randi wanted to scream at it, but even a King couldn’t order around the sun.

He dragged a hand over his face. “Karis. Please don’t. Just don’t. I can’t right now.”

She pulled her hand back. “I am sorry. You wish to speak of other things?”

“Yes. Please.” He couldn’t think about Jisa right now. It was too much, one more mess piled onto the disaster that was the last few days, and he couldn’t handle it. Not and be King as well. There was supposed to be a Council meeting in about two candlemarks and he was so, so far from ready to walk out there and pretend that everything was fine.

And he had to, because the last thing he could afford to do was start the Council panicking. Even if the situation really was dire enough to warrant it.

“I saw Vanyel this morning,” Karis said, her voice light.

“Oh? How is he?” Randi hadn’t managed to visit at all yet. He felt guilty about it, but not enough to ask someone to drag his wheeled contraption to the House of Healing. Though if he ever managed to escape long enough to visit his daughter, he would definitely drop by.

 _What sort of a father am I?_ He hadn’t been to see her at all. Sondra had woken him, of course, to pass on the news when it happened – he would never have forgiven her if she hadn’t – and he had made a halfhearted claim that he ought to get up and go be there with Shavri, but Sondra had reminded him that she was unconscious and wouldn’t know he was there, the Healers were already doing what they could, and there was nothing he could add. He would only have been in the way, and missing sleep would have ruined any chance of getting something done today.

“He seems quite distressed,” Karis admitted, confusing Randi for a moment; he had been off in his own thoughts again, and had already forgotten his question.

Of course Van would be incredibly upset about Jisa’s situation, and he couldn’t be with her either.

Savil had paid an unexpected visit to his quarters the night before, as he was getting ready for bed. _Van has something to discuss with you,_ she had said, cryptically, but she had refused to say what, claiming it wasn’t within her rights to explain. Randi should have been able to muster curiosity – judging by the glint in Savil’s eyes, it was good news, not bad – but he was too weary. There had been too many shocks in a row, and all he wanted was for the world to stop. Just for five minutes. _Let me catch up, please._

“He was coherent,” Karis added. “He is able to speak now. Perhaps we might meet with him soon to discuss our plans?”

It felt horribly unfair to put that on Vanyel now, on top of everything else, but Karis couldn’t stay forever. “Maybe,” he allowed. “I ought to pay him a visit anyway. I can ask if he’s feeling well enough. Maybe we could schedule it for tomorrow.” _:Sondra, don’t let me forget:_

_:Of course, love:_

That was assuming no other catastrophes would come up in the meantime, which, going by the last week, was a dubious assumption.

 _I can’t handle a crisis anymore._ The stress was eating at him, and he had so little stamina for it now; with Sondra’s comforting presence in his mind, he had somehow managed to fall asleep again after hearing the news, but his bed was cold and lonely without Shavri there, and despite the fog of painkillers gluing down his mind, he was hurting. _I don’t know how I’ll get through this goddamned meeting._ He would have pulled Shavri in, usually, but he wasn’t about to ask her to leave their daughter.

Who was a mage.

In the past, he had occasionally mused on how he would feel if Jisa’s Gift awakened, ever since Van had tested her potential. He remembered thinking he would be proud, even delighted, and then keeping that thought to himself, because he knew how much the idea bothered Shavri.

Some part of it was happy for it, even now, a muted tide under the worry. _She’s going to be incredible._

And yet, if Savil’s suspicion was right, and Leareth really had been taking out their mages one by one, she had just made herself a target.

 _Don’t think about it now._ If he stared that abyss in the face, he was going to fall apart; he was dangerously close to it already. Valdemar couldn’t afford for its King to go mad.

 _:You should see Melody:_ Sondra whispered into his mind, unbidden. She was there in the suite with them; Shavri had finally made good on her vague plans, and arranged for the builders to enlarge the door to the patio, knock out a wall, and build in a straw-lined box where his Companion could sleep. He could live with hoofprints on the floor, and it meant that despite his weak Mindspeech, she could be in his mind all the time. He needed that so, so badly right now.

 _:She can’t fix this:_ Gods, and she had to be shaken up by what Jisa had done as well.

_:No, but she can help you to bear it:_

His Companion was probably right; she usually was. Still, right now dealing with Melody sounded more exhausting than he was ready to cope with. Later.

Always later, but they were running out of time–

He forced the panicky spiral to a halt. _Breathe._ His body was convinced it was an emergency on the level of minutes, but it wasn’t and never had been.

No – the slow grinding uncertainty of the last two years was so, so much worse.

* * *

Vanyel swayed, trying to find his balance, and he felt Savil tighten her grip on his arm – which didn’t actually help at all, unlike Andrel’s discreet, steadying hand against his ribs.

“ _Ke’chara,_ are you sure you’re ready for this?” she said anxiously. “If it’s too much–”

 _:I’m fine:_ The padded chair they had brought in for him was only a few steps away. Andy, after looking him over with Healing-Sight, had asked if he felt up for getting out of bed, and Vanyel had eagerly jumped at the chance.

He could actually speak today, as long as he kept the volume low, but he had reverted to Mindspeech anyway – if he sounded out of breath, which he was, Savil would only worry more.

 _:I wish you wouldn’t try to hide how you’re feeling:_ Yfandes sent, sharply.

 _:I’m not. Andy could tell if I really was overdoing it:_ He tried not to grimace as his left knee wobbled under him; after four days flat on his back in bed, his legs were rubbery, and various aches and twinges were making themselves known. Nothing bad enough that he actually _needed_ painblocking, but it still would have been nice to have Stef there.

–Stef, Vanyel reminded himself, was allowed to take care of his own needs.

“And…sit. There.” Andrel guided him into the chair, skillfully supporting his shoulders on the way down. “That’s it. Take some deep breaths now.” He was smiling. “Don’t think we’re ready for a proper walk yet, but this is certainly progress.”

Vanyel tried to smile back, rather than snapping at Andrel to stop talking to him like he was five. Andy was like that with everyone; it wasn’t personal.

Savil twitched, her head turning; from her face, she was answering a Mindtouch. “Van?” she said, a moment later. “Are you feeling well enough for a visitor?”

“Who?”

“Randi, actually.”

“…Oh.” Not what he had been expecting, but they did need to talk, and the timing was good, with Stef being out. “Yes, I–” The warning tickle in his throat gave him time to scrabble for a handkerchief. Coughing still wasn’t comfortable, exactly, but the pain was bearable.

Grimacing, he spat into the cloth and wiped his mouth. The gunk he was coughing up was an alarming shade of greenish-yellow, but at least it wasn’t bloody. _:Savil, I’m sorry:_ he sent. _:That sounds fine:_

“Don’t be alarmed if you’re coughing more for the next while,” Andrel assured him, sliding over the small table so he could reach the cup of water on it himself. “Changing position will help your body clear out some of the phlegm. Your lungs are healing remarkably well, I have to say. Might have you out of here in another few days.”

 _I wish we could say the same for Sandra._ Or Jisa, for that matter. The last word had been that Sandra was improving slowly, but her condition was precarious enough that the Healers were keeping her unconscious. All Savil had known about Jisa was that she wasn’t any worse.

“They’ll be here in a few minutes,” Savil said. “Andrel, er, would it be possible to have some privacy for this?”

“Of course.” Andrel ran a hand through his red hair, making it stand up straight. There were dark circles under his eyes, but overall he seemed quite perky; either he had switched off early enough to get a solid night’s sleep, which seemed unlikely, or he was taking heavy advantage of the chava station.

 _I could really use a cup of chava right now._ The Healers were forbidding it ‘so that he could rest’, which he supposed had been fair enough when he was spending most of his time sleeping in between quick-Healing sessions, but it was starting to get tiresome.

He hoped Shavri had been getting any sleep; given the times she had dropped in to visit him, he had the sense she had been at Healers’ day and night since Sandra’s injury, and it had to be taking a toll. And then her daughter… _Damn it, Jisa, why now?_ They had already been juggling so much.

Stef wasn’t resting much either. He had been snatching catnaps here and there, and he had dragged himself back to sleep at some point – Vanyel was almost embarrassed by how _nice_ it had been, half-waking to find Stef’s arms around him – but even with the resilience of youth, that was only sustainable for so long.

He was such an idiot – he had been focused on himself, and hadn’t even thought about how much Stef was taking on. _What if he makes himself ill?_

There was a knock.

“I’ll be right there!” Andrel glanced back. “Savil, keep an eye on him for me. I’ll send in one of the trainees once you’re done.” He pulled the door open. “Yes?”

Randi was in his wheeled contraption, with a page pushing him; there was no sign of Shavri. The King lifted his hand. “Thank you, Catron. I’ll be all right from here.”

The youngster bowed and left, following on Andrel’s heels.

“Well.” Randi folded his hands across his lap. An old man’s hands, Vanyel thought with chagrin, every tendon and vein visible through the loose, almost translucent skin. “I hear we have something to talk about, but I have to confess, I have no idea what.”

Vanyel took a sip of water to wet his throat. Stalling, because he hadn’t thought ahead and planned what to say. _How do I even start?_

“It’s about Bard Stefen,” he tried.

Randi nodded, politely attentive.

 _Damn it, why is this so awkward?_ Vanyel glanced hopefully in Savil’s direction, but she was looking the other way, and besides, he had outright asked her to be the one to say it.

No point wasting all day hunting for the perfect words. Vanyel forced his shoulders down, and fixed his eyes on a point above Randi’s head. “We’re lifebonded.”

The rest – the Shadow-Lover, and Tylendel – wasn’t something his King needed to know; he hadn’t decided whether to tell even Savil about the Tylendel part, and was leaning against. He forged on. “Melody can confirm it for you, if you want. Anyway, the next part is related to that. Stef got dragged into the Foresight dream with me. So, um, he saw the army and the pass. I haven’t told him anything more yet, he doesn’t know about Leareth or the conversations – but I did sort of promise I would explain.” He swallowed. “So…I want your permission to tell him everything. Randi, he already knows enough to piece most of it together. You know how clever he is. He’s going to ask questions, and I think it’s preferable he does that on the inside – and, well, he could be quite a useful asset, given his training.” He closed his eyes. “Randi, I trust him. I realize I’m not exactly objective, here, but...I would argue he deserves to know. Given how much it’s going to affect him.”

Silence.

Vanyel dared to lift his head, and found Randi watching him intently. The King licked his lips.

“This is a surprise,” he said slowly. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but…not that.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Van, I don’t know. I understand your case for it, and I’m sympathetic, but I have a duty to consider this carefully, and I don’t think I can make a call right now. If I were any less frazzled…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” Vanyel forced himself not to look away. “Thank you, Randi.”

“For what?” Randi’s eyebrows lifted. “I owed you a visit anyway. How are you feeling?”

“Like I wish people would stop asking me that.” Vanyel tried to soften it with a smile. “I’m doing much better.”

Randi shook his head. “You and Stef. Gods, what a world.” His lips drew into the ghost of a smile, creasing over the permanent pain-lines etched around his mouth. “I’m happy for you, truly. I’ll even forgive you for stealing my personal Bard, if you promise to lend him back occasionally.”

Vanyel choked back a laugh. “Randi!” The humour drained away quickly. “How’s Jisa?” he asked quietly.

Randi’s expression tightened. “She’s awake and lucid, at least sometimes. Her Companion is with her. Otherwise, no change.”

Vanyel nodded. “And you? How are you holding up?” He was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Well enough, given everything.” The King’s voice was forcedly light. “I’d rather not talk about it. Listen, Van, is there anything else I can do for you here?”

Vanyel avoided his earnest gaze. “Honestly, if you could talk the damned Healers into letting me have my chava, that would improve my day a lot.”

* * *

“You,” Breda said flatly, “are utterly incorrigible.”

She stood in the doorway to Vanyel’s sickroom, hands on her narrow hips, skinny arms akimbo.

He sighed. _Of course she had to pick the one time when Stef is out._ Randi had left a few minutes ago, and Savil had made her excuses and headed out to deal with some duty or other.

“Stef,” Breda went on, glaring at him, “is much too young for you. I realize he’s completely head over heels, but do you really have to take advantage of that?”

Vanyel couldn’t help it. He started laughing, which was a terrible idea. _Ow._ Coughing, he scrabbled for a handkerchief.

Breda glared at him. “Don’t you dare laugh at me! It’s not funny!”

The Healing-trainee in the corner was pretending very hard to read his book. _I could really wish I didn’t have an audience for this._ At least the youngster would have had ethics training about confidentiality, and wasn’t likely to spread it around.

 _:Breda:_ She wasn’t a Mindspeaker, but she was a bit of an Empath, and it wasn’t too hard to push through a link. _:We’re lifebonded:_

She cut off, jaw slack.

 _:Trust me:_ he sent, dryly, _:I’ve been virtuously fending Stef off for the last six months:_ That was a bit unfair – Stef really hadn’t pushed it after the first incident, the temptation had been all on Vanyel’s end. _:Seemed a bit pointless now:_

Breda tottered over to one of the chairs and sagged into it, a hand pressed to her forehead. “Can’t believe it,” she said faintly. “My Stef. Lifebonded.” There was an almost maternal possessiveness in her voice. “To Herald-Mage Vanyel of all people. What a world.”

 _:Who told you?:_ Vanyel sent. _:I was really hoping it wouldn’t get out:_

She tipped her head. “You’re a bit late on that wish. Did you really think your mother would keep it to herself?”

 _:Oh gods:_ Of course not. She was probably bursting with pride, and eager to brag to all her Court friends about her eldest son’s long-awaited romantic success.

Yfandes’ laughter was in his head. _:Don’t see why you’re so upset:_

 _:Because I don’t want him to be a target!:_ He thought that ought to be incredibly obvious. _:And this is hardly going to do my reputation any good. He’s half my age. People are going to think I’m even more of a pervert than they did before:_

More amusement. _:Some of the Heralds might disapprove, but I actually think the Court won’t. It’s very common for highborn marriages to have large age differences. You know Lord Kaltar was forty-one when he married his wife, and she was sixteen?:_

He made a face. _:I didn’t know that:_ It was mildly horrifying. _:Yfandes, what if they’re right and I am taking advantage of him? I have so much more power:_ In more ways than one. _:What if he’s scared to–:_

 _:Scared to what, disagree with you? Tell you off for treating him badly?:_ A whicker in his head. _:I am so incredibly not worried about that. Remind me which of you was doing the shouting, earlier, and which of you was curled up in a ball crying?:_

_:Hey, that’s not fair–:_

“She’s giving you a piece of her mind, huh?” Breda leaned forward, hands on her knees. “Are you going and feeling guilty, Van? I’m sorry for giving you an excuse, not that you need one.” She stood up, stiffly. “I’ll leave you to it. You just be good to him, all right? Or you’ll have me to reckon with.”

Perfect. Breda was the closest thing Stef had to a mother. _And she’s a dragon._ He had better never hurt Stef’s feelings again.

* * *

“Jisa?”

Her eyelids twitched; slowly, with obvious effort, her brown eyes flickered open. A twisted attempt at a smile. “Van,” she croaked.

He didn’t risk a Mindtouch; her Mindspeech channels might not be newly ripped open, as his had been, but they were raw from backlash all the same, and his voice was working much better today. “I’m here, pet.” Vanyel belatedly remembered that she didn’t like that nickname anymore, but it had already slipped out. He brushed the damp hair back from her forehead. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” she mumbled, closing her eyes again. “Glad…you’re here.”

It was already mid-afternoon. Vanyel had worked all morning to coax Andrel into letting him leave his own room to visit, and the Healer had insisted on carrying him there rather than letting him walk – which was probably for the better, he was still short of breath after any real exertion. Andrel had tried taking off the air-of-life talisman for a few minutes after lunch to see how he handled it, and declared that he needed it for one more night at least.

The delay had offered one advantage at least. Stef had fallen asleep on his bedroll in the corner a few minutes after he returned from Bardic, clean and damp-haired, chaperoned by Medren. Vanyel had shushed anyone who tried to start a conversation in the room, and Stef hadn’t woken until well after lunch.

Right now, he was flopped across his chair sideways, ankles crossed and feet resting on the windowsill – it was a clear sign of how distracted Shavri was that she hadn’t told him off for it yet. _Gods, he sits in chairs exactly like ‘Lendel used to._ It wasn’t that all of Stef’s mannerisms were the same, but there were a few that stood out – the way he tugged at his hair when he was frustrated, the furrowed expression he got when he was thinking hard. _How did I never notice until now?_ It kept catching Vanyel off guard, not exactly painful but very startling, and a few times Stef had noticed his odd looks and made questioning faces.

He had been able to pass it off as nothing, but it was a reminder that he was keeping something incredibly huge from his lifebonded partner. _I don’t know how to tell him._ Or if he even ought to at all. Yfandes had refused to venture advice.

Right now, Stef was singing very softly; his voice was mostly back to normal today, but he wasn’t taking chances.

Hard to believe it was only the fourth day since it had all started. _Let me see, I found out Suncats have secret powers, saved Sandra, nearly died again, had to deal with Stef turning up in my Foresight dream, found out I was lifebonded, stopped my own heart, shouted at a god, found out that Stef is literally Tylendel come back, had to explain the whole thing with the Shadow-Lover to Stef, and had my first fight with him – and that’s all before my daughter deliberately blasted herself with Gate-energy._ Not to mention, there had been an actual conversation with Leareth squeezed in there, debating the theory behind Heartstones. That had to be a new record for him in terms of concentrated weirdness, which was saying a lot given his life so far.

 _:You’re doing fine:_ Yfandes sent. _:I know it’s a lot. We’ll get through this:_

“Van…” Jisa was reaching blindly for him, eyes still closed.

He took her hand between his. “What is it, pet?”

“Have to tell you…” Each word seemed to take great effort; remembering how he had felt after his Gifts had been torn open, he wasn’t surprised. “You’ll…be angry…”

“Shh, hey. I won’t be angry, Jisa, no matter what it is.” Even if she had done something incredibly foolish, it wasn’t the time. “I just want you to be all right.”

Her forehead creased. “Van, I…read your notes…”

“What?” He managed not to shout, but it was a close thing. “Jisa, where – why – how did you _find_ them?” He had been gone from his room for days, true, but Jisa shouldn’t have been able to get into his magically-sealed chest at all.

Damn it, if Jisa had learned about Leareth’s existence by reading his rambling notes-to-himself, there was no telling what awful version of the story she had managed to piece together. _The gods help us._ They would have no choice but to explain everything. Shavri was going to be so furious with him–

Not to mention, Stef was right there in the room. Stef, who had respectfully backed off when Vanyel said he needed to speak to Randi, and was still waiting patiently. How was he going to feel if he learned second-hand via Jisa’s meddling?

 _I need a graceful way to get him out of the room._ But he was stuck.

“Picked Melody’s lock,” Jisa mumbled.

Vanyel blinked. “What?” That didn’t make any sense. “Wait. Jisa, exactly which notes are you talking about?”

She flinched, but squeezed his hand harder. “Lancir’s.”

…He sagged back in his chair. _I didn’t know Lancir took notes about me._ Come to think of it, Melody might have mentioned something once, but he had completely forgotten about it.

For a moment, all he could feel was relief, that he had been wrong, she didn’t know about Leareth after all–

Wait. Lancir _had_ known; he had even known about the conversations. Had he ever written that down?

“Jisa,” he said, very calmly. “How much did you read?”

“Just the…first page.” Tears were leaking out from under her clenched eyelids now. “From…seven eighty-nine. When…it happened.”

Vanyel sagged in his chair. If Jisa was telling the truth – and she had to be, she was in no state to keep track of lies – then there was no possible way she could know about Leareth, because Lancir hadn’t until a year later.

Still, it might have been a close thing. If she had kept reading… He had never even considered that Lancir’s notes might contain state secrets. He should have asked Melody to destroy them years ago.

“Was wrong,” Jisa murmured. “Know that. Unethical. Know that. Betrayed…your trust. You…have a right…to be angry.”

And yet she had done it anyway. And she hadn’t said, he noted, that she regretted it. She had apologized, but that wasn’t the same thing as wanting to take in back.

The relief was fading now, and the rest was catching up. His chest ached; Jisa was right, it was a betrayal. She had crossed a line, fully aware that she was doing so, and the knowledge hadn’t stopped her.

The thought of anyone, even a stranger, reading those notes was agonizing – and somehow his own daughter was even worse. _I never wanted her to know._

It did answer some of their burning questions. So that was how she had learned enough about how his Gifts had awakened to imitate it herself.

“Jisa,” he said, trying to keep his voice gentle – he was angry and hurt, but she was having a bad enough time already. “Why?”

She gripped his hand even harder. “Someone killing…our mages.” She took a deep breath. “Still wasn’t worth it, till they…tried to kill…you too. I couldn’t…do anything… Van, I had to. Help you fight. So you wouldn’t…be alone.”

 _Oh, gods._ Like a blow to the gut, it drove the breath out of him. “Jisa, no, you didn’t have to. That’s not your weight to carry.”

A sad, twisted smile. “You don’t get…to give me permission…to walk away.” Her voice was thick. “Someone had…to try. See if it’d work.”

Vanyel closed his eyes against the sudden tears. _Is this my fault?_ Two years ago, in Randi’s candlelit living-room, he had talked her through the aftermath of that first disaster, offering what comfort he could. What had he said? It was a long time ago, foggy, but a few fragments still came to him.

_You can’t walk away, can you? Even when it hurts to look._

_That’s why I know you’re a good person, Chosen or not._

_I know you want to help the Kingdom. You will. I believe in you._

His daughter had engraved those words deeply into her young mind, and she had taken the future into her own hands. They had been hunting for a way to awaken potential for years – she would have overheard a dozen conversations about it, her parents bemoaning the lack of mage-gifted trainees. And someone had clearly let something slip in her presence about their recent suspicions; she thought someone was murdering the remaining Herald-Mages.

She thought someone had tried to assassinate him. The irony of it almost made him laugh.

Given all that, was it any wonder she had tried to strike out on her own and find a way to help, without telling anyone what she had planned? She had to know they would have stopped her – from her perspective, she would have lost her one chance to help.

_Jisa, you didn’t have to. You were already so, so much more than enough._

And those were the worst possible words to say to her, because it wasn’t his choice to make. Jisa was the only one who could decide when she had done enough. Clearly she had come to her own answer, and it was ‘not until the world is fixed, damn it.’ Leareth would have been proud.

_I’m proud of you, pet._

His eyes prickled. He couldn’t say that out loud either; Shavri would probably murder him in his sleep.

“Well, it’s done now,” he said wearily. “You’re going to be a Herald-Mage, Jisa.” He let out his breath. “I really hope it’s worth the price.”

A lower cost for her than the one he had borne. A few days of pain, awful but quickly to be forgotten by a resilient youngster, and the anger of her parents – and Melody, of course, her teacher had to be furious at the breach of professional ethics. That would last longer than the physical pain, maybe a lot longer, but not forever. No permanent sacrifice.

Looking at it from Jisa’s perspective, he really could see why it might have seemed like the right choice. _And I’m not ever letting Shavri find out that I thought that._

 _:’Fandes:_ he sent. _:Help. What am I supposed to say to her?:_ His stomach was a pit of writing confusion.

Her light brightened in his mind. _:Just be honest, Chosen. Tell her how you feel, and remind her that you love her anyway:_

“I am angry,” he said, levelly. “And hurt. That was _private._ You’re entirely right that it was a massive violation of professional ethics, not to mention my trust, but you knew that going in, and you did it anyway.” She whimpered, and he forced his breath in and out. “But we’ll sort that out later. Jisa, I love you. Nothing’s going to change that.”

Her face relaxed. “Oh.”

“And I have a bit of a confession of my own.” His face was already hot – he so badly didn’t want to tell her, but she deserved to know, if this entire mess was partly his fault. “I won’t lie, you could be right that someone is after our Herald-Mages. But they didn’t come for me – that’s not what happened. Jisa. I, um–” he swallowed hard, “I did it myself. To, um, talk to the Shadow-Lover.” Saying it out loud was even worse than Mindspeech. _What in all hells was I thinking?_ He had no business telling Jisa off for doing something ill-advised and reckless.

Jisa’s eyes flew open, and she sat up halfway before falling back, moaning. “What? Why?”

“It was a bad idea and I shouldn’t have.” Savil, when he had found the courage to admit it, had been furious as well, though not really surprised – he hadn’t told her about wanting to give up the lifebond, that was between him and Stef, he had only said that he’d wanted some questions answered. She knew it wasn’t the first time he had marched up to a god to shout at them. “Guess you should know, I’ve talked to the Shadow-Lover before. We’re…sort of friends, you could say. Sometimes he answers my questions.”

“You’re friends. With Death.” To his surprise, Jisa started giggling, though it was halfway to sobs.

“I know, it’s ridiculous.” He reached to stroke her hair again. “Jisa, I’m sorry I scared you into doing this.”

She stopped laughing. “Worth it,” she whispered. “It worked.”


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Four days, Stef thought. Unbelievable. It felt like it had been about a year.

Somehow the entire day had slipped by – to be fair, Stef had spent several long blocks of it sleeping – and it was late afternoon, creeping into evening. Van seemed to have a lot more energy today. He sat crossed-legged in the bed, writing on a sheet of paper pinned to a board that he had asked Andrel to bring him. Stef couldn’t decipher the weird symbols at all.

_My lifebonded. Mine._

He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to describe how it felt – he had tried explaining it to Medren, fumbling for words and failing to find the right ones. Which wasn’t a frequent occurrence for Stef.

Maybe it would take a song. A duet for him and Van to sing together, because that was what it felt like – it was a constant, inexorable melody that played behind his breastbone. Not entirely a joyful song, but the best ones never were. Happiness alone was boring. This was a song of everything that he had ever been, and everything that Van had ever been, and the place where those two things fit together.

 _Gods, this is making me so incredibly sappy._ Medren would tease him for it, and rightly; he had mocked his roommate through years worth of mooning expressions and bad poetry aimed at whichever girl in their class he was sweet on now.

The way Van had drifted asleep in his arms, last night, all the tension draining out of him… Stef had bedded a lot of people, but he had never held someone as they fell asleep. It didn’t make sense, how intensely it had made him never want to let go.

He sipped from his tea, and set the cup down. “Van- _ashke_?”

Vanyel twitched. “Yes, Stef?”

Stef frowned. “Does it bother you when I call you that?” Vanyel hadn’t asked him to stop, but he seemed startled every time it slipped out.

“What? No.” A reassuring smile. “I like it. Just reminds me of…things.”

“Oh. Someone else called you that before?”

“It does mean ‘beloved’.”

Stef stared at him. “What, it does? I was just making a play on your family-name, and I thought it sounded nice.”

“Oh.” Van’s smile had faded, and his eyes went distant. He seemed to shake himself. “Well, I suppose that’s a funny coincidence. It’s a Tayledras word. I assumed you’d learned it from Jisa.” There was something forcedly cheerful in his voice.

“Maybe I did and I forgot.” Stef shivered, unsure why. “Anyway, there was something I meant to ask.”

“Ask ahead.”

He had about a million questions, some of which he might even be allowed to know the answers to, if he could somehow find time to ask. Might as well start with the simpler ones, easier to fit in before they were inevitably interrupted. Savil had given them a thorough privacy-barrier on the walls so that they could speak openly when they were alone, which they were, finally. Andrel had asked him to tag in one of the trainees if he wanted to go anywhere, but he said he wasn’t worried as long as Vanyel had someone in the room with him, Healing-Gifted or not.

“Van, why were you so upset about Jisa reading Lancir’s papers? If they were just your meeting-notes or something…” He was confused about the whole thing, actually.

“Oh.” A shadow crossed Van’s face, like a cloud blowing in front of the sun. “I forgot, you don’t have that context either. You know who Herald-Mage Lancir was?”

“He was Queen’s Own to Elspeth, right?”

A nod. “He was also a Mindhealer, like Jisa. I saw him in that capacity for eight years. Those are the notes Jisa read.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “I…knew that, I think.” He wasn’t sure how, because he couldn’t think when it would have come up. “That’s why Melody had them.” It had seemed so inexplicable – he really should have made the connection. “And?”

Vanyel closed his eyes, his face clenching. “It was _private._ Bad enough that Jisa can See right into my goddamned mind if she feels like it. Last thing I ever wanted was for her to know what a mess her father was in the early ‘nineties.”

For a moment, all Stef could do was boggle, completely lost for words. _Her…father…_

“Oh. Gods.” Van lifted both hands to his temples. “Forgot you didn’t know. How could you?” He smiled sheepishly. “Jisa is my daughter by blood. Randi couldn’t have children and I, er, helped out. Needless to say, you mustn’t tell anyone.”

Of course not – it would be the scandal of the decade. “So that means…” _Oh, gods, I did not need that mental image. Ew._

Vanyel sighed, a pink stain creeping across his cheeks. “I bedded Shavri, yes. It was awkward.”

‘Awkward’ didn’t begin to describe it. “Oh,” Stef said faintly.

“Let’s get the shock out of the way. I have four children. Brightstar and Featherfire in k’Treva, they’re, gods, they’re about your age.” Vanyel made a face. “That is such an incredibly uncomfortable thought.”

Stef had seen the pair at a distance during the public visit two years ago, and had sort-of-met Moondance briefly, though he had been in trance the entire time while the mage-Healer tried to assess his Wild Gift. “Oh. Right. Can I ask why…?”

“Favour to their parents. It’s a custom there. Anyway. One more, and this one is really, incredibly secret.” He hesitated. “Arven.”

“Oh. Right. That makes sense, if Randi can’t…” He trailed off, as the rest caught up. “You bedded Karis! The Queen of Karse?”

“Yes.” Vanyel was really turning red now.

“And?”

Van covered his face with both hands. “Do you _have_ to have all the prurient details? It was actually pretty awful. She doesn’t even like men.”

“Oh.” That was news to him. “Is she shaych?” The Karsites were supposedly still rampantly against that, so if so it must have been a close-held secret as well.

“No, I think she’s just not made to feel that way about anyone.” Vanyel shook his head. “I imagine it saves her a lot of time.”

The idea was so weird, it made him dizzy, but it wasn’t really the point. “Van, you don’t even like bedding women, right?”

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever done.” A crooked smile. “I’d take it over a Border-patrol any day.”

That was so incredibly far from a ringing endorsement, Stef had to laugh. “Well, you’ve at least bedded _more_ men, right?”

“I think so?” Vanyel closed his eyes, counting on his fingers. “…Yes, but it’s close. Five women, but three were just for my stud services, and one was, um, a courtesan my father bought for me when I was fourteen.” His cheeks were bright red again. “And then six – no, wait, seven, I forgot about Tran.”

“You’ve bedded Tran?” Stef felt his eyes widen. “I am so jealous. He’s dreamy. I didn’t know he was interested in men.” A flare of hope. “Think he’d be up for a–”

“He,” Vanyel said firmly, “is definitely too old for you. And he’s taken. He and Dara are together.”

“Dara’s barely older than I am!”

“Yes, and that’s exactly the face a lot of people made about it. Didn’t stop either of them. She is King’s Own, it’s a little hard for people to push her around.” Vanyel was smirking. “Anyway, since we’re comparing numbers here, what’s yours?”

Stef ducked behind his hair. “I, um, might’ve stopped counting. After about twenty.” He had never been embarrassed about it before, and he wasn’t sure why he felt so uncomfortable now. “Fifty-ish, maybe?”

Vanyel had the grace not to look horrified, at least; he mostly seemed amused. “Fifty, you say? Stef, where did you _find_ that many shaych men in Haven?”

He squirmed. “It’s not that hard. There really is just the one tavern where everyone goes. And some of them probably weren’t shaych. Just curious enough to try it for a night.” A thought occurred to him, and he smiled brightly. “Van, we should go there sometime.” It wasn’t a feeling he had ever had before, but the thought of walking in there with Herald-Mage Vanyel on his arm, and then not even flirting with anyone else _all night_ , made him feel…something, he wasn’t sure what to call it.

Van grimaced. “Stef, we can’t – I’m sorry, but I really don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be seen together in public like that.”

It stung, and Stef looked down, letting his hair slide across his face to hide the tears that threatened. “Why not?” he said bitterly. “Half the Palace already knows.”

“Thanks to my goddamned mother.” Vanyel’s voice was tight. “I’m hoping they chalk it up as an implausible rumour. It’s not exactly in character for me. Stef, gods, I don’t want it known how much you matter to me, because it would make you a target, and I can’t – I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

He sounded sincere, but it still hurt. _He’s embarrassed to be seen with me._ Stef couldn’t think of anything to say, so he stayed silent. Not worth fighting about it now. Just move on.

Vanyel looked down at his paper, fidgeting with it, then lifted his eyes and tried to smile. “I’m sorry to be morbid, Stef. Any other questions?”

“There was one, actually.” Stef fidgeted with the sleeve of his tunic. “The Shadow-Lover. What, exactly, did you mean when you told Jisa you were ‘sort of friends’?”

Vanyel cleared his throat. “I mean, you can’t _really_ be friends with the avatar of a god, but…he’s very comforting. He’s meant to be, I think. In the place where I go when I see him, nothing hurts – when I was younger, that was incredible. I could think better. I would spend ages there, just talking in his arms, until I felt ready to go back.” He shook his head. “It’s like he makes you trust him, just by listening. I don’t know how to feel about that, now, given what I think of the gods in general. So I try not to ramble about everything on my mind anymore, but it doesn’t seem like it could do any harm to let him hold me.”

Stef was boggling. “You – you _cuddle_ with him _._ With Death.”

“Er, yes–”

“This past time as well?”

“Not for that long – if ‘long’ is the right word, even, time is different there. I was impatient to come back, and I had just talked to – um, never mind.” An awkward shrug. “But he offered, and I was pretty shaken, I kind of needed it.”

Stef found himself on his feet. “You – you cheated on me! With the avatar of Death! Van, I can’t believe–”

Vanyel, to his surprise, was laughing. “Stef, really, are you seriously jealous of–”

“It’s not funny!” Stef folded his arms, glaring. “Van, do you know how incredibly creepy that is? It’s bad enough that you tried to die on purpose so you could – let’s not even go there.” He was shaking. “You really had to snuggle with him as well?”

Vanyel had stopped laughing. He was staring down at his hands. “Stef, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would bother you that much.”

 _Why does it bother me so much?_ It wasn’t like he had ever been one to feel jealous before, not really – but none of Stef’s other bed-partners had been _his._ Not like Vanyel. It made him want to rip the Shadow-Lover’s eyes out, which was a ridiculous way to feel about a literal god, but he couldn’t help it.

Still, he realized how he sounded. “Van, I – I didn’t mean to snap at you. Maybe I’m being unreasonable.”

“No. You do have the right.” Vanyel’s expression was odd, distant. “If it bothers you that much, I won’t do it again.”

“You’d better not!” Stef marched over to the bed and put both hands on Vanyel’s shoulders, pinning him against the pillows. “If you ever almost die on me again, I’ll, I’ll – I don’t know but you won’t like it!”

Van struggled against his grip for a moment, then went limp. “I’ll try not to,” he whispered.

“I’m holding you to that.” The guilt leaking through was more than Stef could take, and the anger fell away, leaving his knees unsteady. He sagged down onto the edge of the bed, holding out his arms. “Van, hey, I’m sorry. I overreacted.” It was disconcerting, how strongly Vanyel reacted to his anger – it was a kind of power he had never recognized before, and wasn’t sure he was comfortable having.

 _:It’s all right:_ Vanyel rested his chin on Stef’s shoulder, uneven breath tickling his ear.

He was still there when there was a knock on the door. Stef immediately let go, sliding off the cot and stepping away; Van still didn’t like it when someone walked in on them ‘all over each other’. Stef was a little hurt about it – it did feel a lot like Vanyel being embarrassed by their relationship – but an echo of Medren’s voice was in his head, gently telling him it would be disrespectful to push. “Come in!” he called out, cautiously, and then scrabbled for the damp cloth still sitting on the table. “Van- _ashke,_ here, clean up a bit.”

It wasn’t the Healing-trainee. Randi was in the doorway, in his wheeled contraption, Shavri pushing him. Both of them looked as haggard as he had ever seen them, and Stef felt a pang. Not guilt, exactly – he had his priorities straight, and Vanyel came first – but it bothered him.

“Vanyel?” the King said. “Could we talk to you a minute? Privately.” A pause. “You and Stef.”

Stef relaxed; he hadn’t even realized that his shoulders were tensing. _I don’t want to be shut out._ If the King was here to talk to both of them, then maybe, finally, he was about to have some answers.

There was another benefit. Randi was in pain, though he hid it well. Stef started to croon, very quietly, but pushing his Gift into it hard. The King sat up a little straighter.

“I’ve done some thinking.” Randi shook his head, smiling ruefully. “You’re right. Stef deserves to know, and on reflection, I believe your trust in him is well-placed.”

 _Damn right I deserve to know,_ Stef thought with a glow of satisfaction. He had an excuse to learn _all_ of the state secrets now.

“One thing.” Randi’s eyes turned, boring into him. “Stef, if we’re to bring you fully inside on this, I need your formal oath. You’re going to be one of us. I need you to swear to me that you will only use this information in Valdemar’s best interest.” A pause. “There isn’t really a standard oath for this – the Heralds’ Creed wouldn’t be appropriate.” 

Stef knew the words of it, of course. He wouldn’t be much of a Bard if he didn’t; there was even a song interpretation of the ancient words. “No,” he agreed. “Not the parts about Companions, anyway. But maybe it’s a good start.”

He closed his eyes, focusing on his breath for a moment, and then knelt at the King’s feet.

“King Randale, I pledge to you my heart.” A pause. “And everything else. My hands, my mind, my Gift.” That much he could say honestly, and he was surprised at how easily the words came – it was like a part of him had already laid down that oath, in every way that mattered. He was just making it official.

 _He’s captured your loyalty_ , Vanyel had said. Stef remembered fumbling for the words to deny it – hollow, pointless words, because it was true. Whatever loyalty was, whatever that meant, Randi had earned his the day he forgave his daughter and her wayward Bardic friend for what had arguably been treason, and offered a foolhardy orphan from the streets of Three Rivers a way to prove himself.

What was next? _That we may build and preserve our land and people, together._

Those words came harder. _Is it my land? My people?_ He had somehow never considered the question before, despite living in the Palace, right at the heart of Valdemar, for almost seven years.

Valdemar was half a million people he had never met, who he had no reason to care about. People like the man who had tried to steal him once, or the townsfolk who had turned their faces away when he begged for food and coin on the street-corner. He hadn’t mattered to them at all until his voice held the power to move them, to bring a touch of joy into their lives – and even then, he hadn’t mattered very much. Why should he care about them?

–Valdemar was people like Berte. Like Medren. Jisa. Lady Treesa and Lord Ashkevron.

Like Vanyel, who had taken that oath years ago. Not because the words would bind and change him, if words even had that power, but because he would have done most of those things anyway.

Either way, Stef thought, he had to make up some words and say them, before the silence got too awkward.

He swallowed. “I vow to help build and preserve your – our – land and people. To obey our Laws. I mean, unless you give me permission to break them for a good reason. I vow to seek the truth in every thought and deed.” He had been doing that much for his entire life anyway. “To do what I can to fix the wrongs, and restore and keep the peace.” That was something any reasonable person would do, for a place they lived in; of course he wanted his home to be peaceful and prosperous. Helping build and preserve it, if he had a chance to do so, was a completely rational thing to do.

What else was in there? Deeds of those who lived before, legends of the past… That part didn’t really seem important. Path stands clear, where you lead I cannot be afraid – no, that just wasn’t _true_.

Upon love that we build this foundation…

It was, in Stef’s opinion, a ridiculous phrase to include in a formal oath. Laughable.

Which made it all the more ironic that it was literally true. He was swearing an oath at all for Vanyel – because something was coming, and he had to know. Had to be able to help. For that, he needed Randi’s trust.

Vanyel. _Mine._

Did that mean that Valdemar was his as well?

A moment of odd vertigo, as though the world had shrunk and fallen away. A pattern he had never seen before, he had always been too close, but it wouldn’t quite come clear–

 _Fine, I’ll say the stupid words._ It wasn’t like Medren was there to laugh at him.

“For love, I will serve Valdemar as long as there is breath in me. This is our sacred trust. Upon my soul I vow this to you, that–” he stumbled, dizzy, off-balance, “–that the light of our people may never fade.”

Silence. Finally, cheeks hot, Stef dared to lift his head.

Randi’s eyes were fixed on him. “Stefen, lad, you never stop surprising me. You meant every word of that, didn’t you?”

He grinned, trying to make light of it. “I carefully _didn’t_ say the ones I didn’t mean.” Vanyel was staring at him as well, his face mask-like, and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking; even through the bond, Stef wasn’t sensing anything. It was like Vanyel had blocked it off.

“Anyway.” Randi rubbed one hand over the back of the other. “Now that we’re done with that, let’s start with the quick version. Stefen, I expect you’ll have a great many questions. Unfortunately, I do have other places to be after this, so we don’t have long.”

Stef nodded.

“You already know about Vanyel’s Foresight dream,” Randi said. “Well, he’s been having it for eighteen years now. Army in the north, a pass carved with blood-magic, and a mage who calls himself Leareth leading them into Valdemar.”

 _Leareth._ There was no reason for the name to be familiar, but it was like a plucked string deep inside him.

“In the vision, Vanyel calls Final Strike to kill him and hold the army back.”

So that was it. He should have felt _something_ , hearing those words, but at this point it wasn’t even a surprise.

“It seems this is a very unusual Foresight vision,” Randi went on. “At some point it became two-way. Vanyel and Leareth have been speaking to each other in these dreams for – Van?”

“Seventeen years,” Vanyel said, his voice remote.

Randi rubbed his eyes. “Other highlights. Leareth claims to be immortal, and we have credible evidence of it. He states he’s spent the last two thousand years trying to make the world a better place, and – well, we have no proof of that, it’s a difficult thing to prove, but we do have Vanyel’s gut sense that he’s telling the truth.” A pause. “He finally informed Van a few years ago that his current plan is to invade, build an empire, increase the population, and at some point sacrifice ten million people with blood-magic in a ritual to create a literal god. In order to fight all the other gods, because he doesn’t like the way they run things. We’re uncertain on a lot of pieces. If this is his real plan at all, much less whether he can really pull it off. Fundamentally, we don’t know which side he’s really on. We’ve spent the last two years trying to answer that question. Whether Vanyel needs to fight him, and possibly die in the process, or whether, the gods forbid, someone ought to offer the man some help. Vanyel thinks it’s possible we should. I’m skeptical, and so are most of the others. This led to, er, quite a lot of strong feelings at the time. However, I would rather not go to war with someone who’s had two thousand years to prepare – very possibly a war we can’t win. And the stakes are high, much higher than just Valdemar. It’s the future of the entire world.”

Stef boggled.

Randi shrugged. “That’s the current state of things. Vanyel took a break from speaking to him after he learned the full plan, but he went back in there a year ago and he’s been trying to learn more. And stalling, since we really aren’t ready for a war. We were planning to meet with Karis at the spring festival and decide our next steps, but recent events got in the way.”

The vertigo was back. It was the sheer scale of it all, Stef thought. _He certainly doesn’t dream small._

He stumbled over to the chair.

“Questions?” Randi offered.

“Not…yet…” Stef’s mind grappled for purchase. It wasn’t, quite, disbelief he was feeling – Randi wouldn’t lie about something like this, and Vanyel definitely wouldn’t.

Everything was shifting under him – except one thing, a single anchor. _Vanyel. Mine._ And if the pieces kept moving, maybe they would eventually slide into a picture that made sense.

He was pretty sure this was big enough to encompass _all_ of the nagging questions he had been storing away for two years, ever since he had promised to stop investigating it on his own.

“I recognize that look,” Randi said dryly. “It’s the way all of us felt at first. Took about six months before I really absorbed it. Vanyel has my permission to answer any questions as they occur to you.” He shook his head. “Stef, congratulations. You’re now one of less than twenty people in the entire Kingdom who know what’s coming, and are trying to make sure we end up in the best possible future – whatever that means. Welcome. I’m glad to have you on our side.”

At any other time, that would have been exhilarating to hear, but Stef had no room left for it in his head.

“Oh. _No._ ” Randi twitched in his chair. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and was silent for a long moment. “Van,” he said finally, “does Leareth know? About Stef, I mean.”

“No. I’m fairly sure he doesn’t.” Vanyel cast an apologetic glance in Stef’s direction. “The part when he repla– where he turned up was much earlier than where the conversations usually start, in a different location. I doubt Leareth saw us, even if he really ‘in’ the dream with us at the time, which I think he wasn’t. He’s very hard to read, of course, but he didn’t seem suspicious.”

 _When I replaced who?_ It wasn’t the first time he had caught Vanyel switching direction mid-sentence, steering away from…what? What was he still hiding?

“Oh. Good.” Randi massaged his temples for a moment. “Moving on. Vanyel, this brings me to what I wanted to talk about with you.”

Stef took a deep breath, and started singing. It seemed the conversation was moving on, and Randi needed it – and he was satisfied to see the King sit up straighter, some of the lines around his mouth smoothing away.

“Karis extended her visit as a result of what happened,” Randi was saying. “I still think we need to meet now and discuss what we’re doing next. I don’t want to push you, if you aren’t ready yet, but do you think you can handle that tomorrow?”

Vanyel frowned. “I don’t know if–”

“If the Healers don’t want to let you out,” Randi interjected, “we can meet here. Savil can reinforce the privacy-barrier. My question is just if you’re feeling well enough.”

“I’m fine,” Vanyel said quickly. “You’re right, we do have some decisions to make.”

His face was perfectly calm, as unruffled as a still pond, but Stef felt the trepidation rising through their bond. _He’s terrified._

“Then we’ll block in a time.” Randi ran a hand over his colourless hair. “Van… Earlier, I don’t think I got around to thanking you. For saving Sandra’s life.”

Vanyel’s face twisted. “If I’d gotten there sooner–”

“My Sondra passed on from your ‘Fandes that you delayed by about ten seconds to take some extremely basic safety precautions,” Randi cut him off. “And you still almost died. What I also haven’t had a chance to say, yet, is that I’m very miffed with you for being reckless. You scared the piss out of me, Van. I need you.”

Did Randi know that Van’s closest brush with death had been deliberate? It seemed not. Stef wasn’t sure whether or not he was relieved about that. It might have been good to have someone else to shake some sense into his lifebonded, but then again, it might make him cry again and that would be _awful._

The King sighed again. “I really wish we had found the pass–”

Oh.

Stef choked on the note he was singing, and slapped a hand to his forehead. _I am such a goddamned idiot._

Vanyel twisted around. _:Stef, what–:_

_That’s why it looked familiar._

“I know where the pass is,” he said.

Dead silence.

Randi was blank, but Vanyel’s eyes lit with understanding in seconds. “Oh. Of course. Your Bardic trial. You were up north.” 

The King rubbed a hand across his chin. “Stef, tell us.”

“Well, I don’t know exactly. But I think I recognize the general area.” And he knew who they could ask. Hyrryl had asked him to keep their clan secret, though. “Crookback Pass, the locals called it,” he said instead, leaving unspecified exactly which ‘locals’ it had been. “It’s a ways north of the border, through some dense forest, but I’m pretty sure that’s where, and it must be on someone’s map.” It was just outside of the Hot Spring Clan range, surely the only reason they hadn’t noticed a gaping passage carved through it, but Hyrryl had shared decades-old tales of young kyree scouts venturing across the mountains to the northern wastes. 

Randi steepled his hands together in his lap. “Shavri?”

“I recognize the name. It was on our list to check, I think.” She smiled in Stef’s direction. “We talked to the locals and drafted a list of every mountain crossing they knew about, but there are dozens, hundreds if you count the ones that are really just goat-tracks, and they’re all difficult for outsiders to find – our agent needed to recruit guides. So thank you. This narrows it down a great deal.”

* * *

“Came to see how my little brother was doing.” Lissa stood in the doorway. “And someone else wanted to see you.”

The plump little girl riding on her shoulders waved, blue-black pigtails bouncing. “Vanya!” She couldn’t _quite_ say his name, but she was most of the way there.

Vanyel smiled, lifting his hand to wave back. It felt surreal – a candlemark ago, Stef had been hearing the Heralds’ closest-kept secret, boggling at it. Now they were both having a perfectly ordinary conversation with his sister. It didn’t feel like those two things ought to happen in the same evening.

Arven wriggling. “Let me down, aunty Lissa!” she pleaded in Karsite.

“All right, all right, but be gentle with him.” Lissa swung the child down, and Arven pattered over to the cot and put two chubby hands on the wooden railing. “Vanya? Can I come up?”

Looking into her beaming grin, it was impossible not to smile back. _:Stef?:_ he sent. _:Can you tell her yes, and help her up?:_ The meeting with Randi had strained his recovering voice, and he was trying to avoid speaking any more tonight. 

Stef, sitting sideways in his chair again, swung his legs down, his eyes coming into focus. “Arven, do you remember me?” he said in careful, strongly-accented Karsites. Vanyel hadn’t realized he knew any of the language.

“You’re the Bard!” she said brightly – and switching easily to Valdemaran, though with a childish lisp that made her a little difficult to understand. Vanyel knew, from conversations with Karis, that her nursemaids would have been speaking both languages with her, and Rethwellani and Hardornen as well, since she was an infant. _They said it is easier to start young,_ the Queen had pointed out.

Stef looked a little hurt, maybe at the implicit slander of his language skills, but he folded it away behind a smile. “That’s right, I am a Bard. My name is Stef. Listen, Vanyel can’t really talk right now, because he’s ill, but he can talk to me in my head, and he says you can come up and sit with him.”

Arven’s eyes got round for a moment, but then she bobbed her head in agreement, and Stef swooped in to lift her under the arms.

“Oof!” he said. “You’re getting so big, Arven. How old are you?”

“Three!” she announced proudly. “I’m a big girl now.”

Vanyel hadn’t had a chance to see her yet on this visit. Her warm weight in his lap was surprisingly comforting, and as usual, it was fascinating how much she had grown and changed in just three short months. Her sentences had been a lot less grammatical at Midwinter.

She reached up to poke at his face. “Vanya is sick?”

“He got hurt rescuing one of the other Herald-Mages,” Stef explained hoarsely. “Being a hero, which is usually how he almost gets killed, I think.”

“Oh.” Arven blinked owlishly, and then went back to tugging at Vanyel’s hair. She was always fascinated by its colour.

Vanyel grimaced. _:Stef, that’s not age-appropriate:_

Stef’s only response was to stick out his tongue.

Lissa was reaching into the pocket of her Guard-blue tunic. “Brought you some toys to amuse her, little brother.” She tossed them to him, one at a time, a wooden horse and a matching wooden soldier. He let them land on the blanket across his knees, not even trying to catch them.

As he made the soldier ‘ride’ the horse up and down the folds of blanket, to Arven’s rapt delight, Lissa dragged over another chair. “So?” She waggled her eyebrows. “Is it true? You and Stef…?” She made a lewd gesture.

“Liss!” he yelped before he could stop himself, and started coughing. At least it had been behind Arven’s back. Stef was laughing so hard that he was almost falling out of his chair.

At least the visit had lightened his mood, Vanyel thought. Ever since Randi’s departure, Stef had been silent and withdrawn. Which was understandable, but he hadn’t known what to say, and had fallen back on scribbling down notes for the upcoming meeting.

That the awkwardness wasn’t all on Stef’s end. His bastardized version of the Heralds’ Creed was still echoing in Vanyel’s head, tugging at threads of old memories. In that moment, more intensely than ever before, Stef had reminded him of Tylendel, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Didn’t particularly want to think about it, yet.

“Based on how red you just turned,” Lissa said cheerily, “I’m gathering it _is_ true. Wasn’t sure if Mother might have made it up. Anyway, good work, both of you, getting all that sorted. Took you long enough.”

Arven seemed oblivious to the entire conversation; she was now eagerly making the horse ‘chase’ the soldier up and down Vanyel’s shoulder.

“Well?” Lissa was grinning now. “Stef, is he good to you? You just tell me if he’s being a fathead about anything and I’ll slap some sense into him. That’s a big sister’s job.”

“Hey!” Vanyel whispered in protest. It wasn’t fair for her and Breda to _both_ be ganging up against him. Stef was already off in another peal of helpless laughter.

* * *

Melody eased herself down into the chair at Jisa’s bedside. “So. How are you holding up?”

 _How do you think?_ Shavri didn’t bother to answer, just stared past Melody at the wall. She wasn’t sure how the Mindhealer had found her; she had been hiding in one of the unused patient-rooms, because she didn’t want to risk leaving the House of Healing entirely but she desperately needed five minutes with no one looking at her or talking to her. All day, all night, people had needed something from her. _I can’t take it anymore._

She was supposed to help Randi run a goddamned strategy-meeting tomorrow, in Van’s sickroom of all places. Which meant she really ought to get some real sleep tonight, especially since she couldn’t have Need at her side. Jisa needed the sword’s Healing-energy more than her mother.

“I imagine you’re angry with her,” Melody said mildly. “So am I. Mostly at the momentous breach of professional ethics – it could make a useful teaching example, she managed to violate so many principles at once. I keep asking myself why she would do a thing like that, and I don’t have an answer.” She sighed. “I suppose I ought to talk to Van at some point. I’m putting it off because I don’t think it will be fun at all.”

Shavri wasn’t sure she had ever heard Melody admit to procrastinating on something.

“And, of course,” Melody went on, “I’m awfully miffed at her for taking a risk like that, without telling anyone. And for not considering the impact it would have on everyone else. It’s a terrible time for it. Sandra needs a _lot_ of support right now, so does Kilchas – honestly, so does Randi – and I could really do with us not being shorthanded.”

“Did Randi see you?” Shavri said vaguely. It was the sort of thing she really ought to know about, but it wasn’t like she had spent more than half a candlemark talking to her lifebonded in the last several days.

“No. I got a back-channel request from Rolan, via his Sondra.” Melody shook her head. “Which really isn’t the preferred way of scheduling appointments.”

Shavri couldn’t think of anything to say in response, and they lapsed into silence.

“I expect it’s a different mix for you,” Melody said finally, one hand plucking absently at her robes. Her eyes darted to the window, which was open, showing a patch of midnight-blue sky. “She took the flashiest possible path to a life that isn’t the one you wanted for her.” 

Shavri winced.

“I have to say,” Melody went on. “I’m upset with her on a number of levels, and I can’t condone what she did – but you’ve got to admire the girl’s dedication.”

Like a knife to the heart. Shavri’s breath sucked in. “Melody, I–” The words tangled on her tongue. “I don’t – why? I, just, I keep asking myself what I did wrong…”

Melody tugged at the neck of her robes, looking past her. “Shavri, do you know why it’s tempting to blame ourselves for awful things that happen?”

Shavri said nothing.

“It’s a way to feel in control. If it was your fault, that means you could have done something differently, and changed it. That you might learn from it and do better in the future.” She shook her head. “Sometimes it’s easier to feel the pain of guilt, than to know that it was never on you.”

 _What are you trying to say?_ Whatever it was, Shavri wished she would stop. _Can’t you see I want to be left alone?_

Melody was perceptive enough that she had to have noticed, and she was here anyway.

“It’s hard with children,” Melody went on finally. “I know that. We bear them from our own flesh – it’s a pretty awe-inspiring responsibility, that. Creating a person out of ourselves.” She shook her head again. “And at the start, we’re their whole world. We really do have to be in charge, and we do our best, even though no one’s really qualified for it. But then they grow up, and that’s not something we control. Not a burden we can bear for them, however much we want to. All we can do is love them, and try to give them the best pieces of ourselves.”

Shavri blinked away tears. “You’re trying to tell me it wasn’t my fault,” she said dully. “I know. I’m not stupid. Just–” Her throat closed on the words, and she switched to Mindspeech. _:You want to know why she did this? She was terrified. And it was my fault. Melody, she overheard us talking about a theory Savil had – that all these recent deaths and accidents among our Herald-Mages are starting to form a pattern:_

Melody had gone very still. _:Leareth:_ As usual, her mindvoice was crisp, leaking very little. _:You think–:_

 _:Maybe. One has to wonder:_ Shavri shoved a lock of matted hair out of her eyes. _:Not the point. I thought she was sleeping, and I made Savil switch to Mindspeech as soon as I realized it was sensitive, but she heard. Of course it scared the hell out of her when we almost lost Van. She thought it was a murder attempt:_

Melody’s chin twitched up. _:Gods. I didn’t think of that. Could it have–:_

 _:It wasn’t. We’re sure:_ She had forgotten that Melody wouldn’t know about Vanyel’s little plan, and she didn’t feel like getting into it right now. _:Still, I can’t blame her for panicking:_

And Jisa had wanted to be a mage like her Uncle Van since she was tiny _._ Shavri had assumed that dream had been left behind with childhood; Jisa had seemed content enough in her lessons with Melody. Obviously it hadn’t been entirely forgotten.

Melody was nodding slowly. _:Desperation. I think I understand better now. Shavri, your daughter doesn’t quit, and she has a way of being absolutely ruthless when she sees a path to her goal. She does have a firm sense of right and wrong, at this point, and she knew it was wrong, but if her values were put in conflict, if she felt that her ethical obligations as a Mindhealer were pitted against everything else that matters to her… Well, I could have guessed which one would break first:_

 _:She had wrong information:_ Shavri repeated. 

_:Did she, though?:_ Melody fidgeted with her sleeve. _:In the details, sure. In the overall picture? Shavri, she’s not wrong that our situation was already dire, and effectively losing Sandra and Kilchas made it much worse. She’s a very perceptive young woman; she can tell that the adults around her are afraid for our future. I’m still very angry at how she went about it, and what she sacrificed in the process – but from a certain angle, she took a calculated risk, one that required a remarkable amount of courage, and it paid off. Am I wrong?:_

No. Despite her near-panic at the time, Shavri had admitted to herself later that Jisa had never actually been close to death. She was young and strong and healthy, and she’d had Need in her hand the whole time. Hellfires, Van had survived the exact same thing, with even worse damage to his channels and none of Jisa’s previous training in her other Gifts, plus near-drowning and a broken lifebond all at the same time.

She remembered Vanyel’s response to her daughter’s partial apology, and how deeply it had shaken her. Jisa had wronged him so deeply, but he hadn’t shouted, or ever let go of Jisa’s hand. _I love you. Nothing’s going to change that._

She had seen the pride in his eyes, that he hadn’t been able to conceal.

Jisa had said that it was worth it, and she had been entirely sincere.

Shavri had left the room just in time before she started sobbing.

Her daughter had successfully found a way of awakening potential that had actually worked. Something they had been seeking for years, and no one else, not even Van, had guessed that this was an option. If it had occurred to them first, would they have sought a volunteer from among the adult Heralds to test something that risky? Shavri couldn’t deny it was possible. Likely, even. A lot of risks started to seem worth it when there was a war on the horizon.

Jisa wasn’t a Herald, yet, but she was going to be one. Which made Shavri want to curl up in a ball and weep, but she couldn’t deny that it was a dream come true for her daughter.

It was so slippery to hold onto – like double vision, seeing both sides of it at once.

 _:Damn it!:_ she sent, swiping at her eyes. _:Why does she have to be so much like Vanyel?:_

Melody made a sound that had to be a stifled chuckle. _:Why, is Vanyel such a very bad person?:_

 _:No!:_ Shavri flung up her hands. _:I didn’t – it’s not – Melody, he puts himself in danger constantly!:_

 _:Being a goddamned hero. I know:_ A slow nod. _:I have to admit, I was thinking it too. Well, she is his daughter as well:_

Shavri cupped both hands to her face. _:Why did she feel like she had to take on all of it herself?:_

 _:Not surprising at all:_ Melody reached for her arm. _:Van isn’t the only one of her parents she gets it from:_

Shavri pulled back. _:I wouldn’t have done that!:_

_:Well, can you imagine what you would do, if you were thrown into that situation, at her age?:_

At thirteen, she would have run away screaming.

Was that right? She had sprinted _towards_ the calls for help and not away, the night that Yfandes had pulled Vanyel out of the river. And not out of duty, or grim determination, but because it was exciting to help.

That was different, though. They had been calling for a Healer. If it had been a different kind of problem, one clearly beyond a Healer’s scope, she doubted she would have tried to take it on herself. _I trusted the adults to handle it._ It hadn’t been until a years later that she realized ‘adults’ were an illusion.

Still, if it had been a couple of years later, and she had been faced with something that she thought no one else would take on…

 _:I would have asked Van for help:_ she admitted, unsure why it felt so much like a confession.

_:And if he had proposed the plan that Jisa used, but you were the only one who could carry it out?:_

That was an even more uncomfortable hypothetical. _:I don’t know:_ Every part of her flinched away from it. She had never wanted to be a mage, never wanted that kind of power; disobeying adults had been anathema when she was fourteen; in some deep way, she had never wanted to matter.

…Not as anything more than a Healer, anyway. The younger Shavri had had a certain sort of ambition. She had dreamed of changing history, if only in that one small way – making discoveries, curing patients when no one else could.

Again the old twinge of resentment, more habit than anything now. _I never asked for this._ To be lifebonded to a King, tangled up in the politics and tensions and high-stakes decisions at the center of a kingdom, pulled further and further away from the work she had loved.

Melody shook her head. _:You’re making the wrong comparison. What if it was Healing? Imagine if you knew the world needed a stronger Healer –the strongest Healer ever to exist – and you thought Jisa’s trick would strengthen your Gift:_ A pause. _:Which it might, you know:_

Gods. Shavri pressed a hand to her chest, surprised by the sudden surge of…longing? _:Maybe:_

: _I think you would have done it, Shavri. Given how much of your life you’ve spent taking on burdens that no one ever asked of you, but you happened to be in the right place at the right time to do something no one else could do. You can’t turn away from that. And it shows. Children are like sponges – they suck up all sorts of lessons from us. Not just the words we say, or even the examples we try to set, but the deeper parts as well:_

Her chest ached. _:You think we gave her the wrong lessons:_

 _:No:_ Melody blinked, surprised. _:That’s not what I mean at all. I think you – and Randi, and Van – did a very thorough job of raising her to live the way you do:_

 _:We taught her too well:_ She was shaking now, hugging her knees. _:Gave her too much of ourselves. Gods, I wish–:_

Jisa was braver than Shavri would ever be, and in this context, too much courage was the last thing any mother wanted for their child – but Melody was right. Jisa wasn’t her possession. _My flesh and blood, but I never owned her._ Never hers to control.

 _:What do you wish?:_ Melody sent, nothing but soft-edged curiosity in her mindvoice

_:I wanted it to be different for her. Better. I didn’t want her to have to make the sacrifices I did–:_

Melody nodded, sympathetic. _:That’s what we all want, I think. A better, safer world for our children, full of good things and with none of the bad. We can offer them that when they’re little, because their world is so small, and I think you did a very good job there. You gave her a happy childhood – it shows, she’s remarkably well-adjusted – but she’s ready to leave the nest now, and it was never in your power to reshape the entire world to be her playground. Shavri, it doesn’t make you a bad mother that you failed to fix literally all the problems before your daughter turned thirteen:_ A bitter chuckle. _:I suppose that’s one way of describing what Leareth is trying to do. You have to admit it’s taking him a lot longer:_

Shavri wasn’t sure whether that made her want to laugh or cry. There was something vaguely Leareth-like about Jisa’s decision – trying to do the right thing, even when it must have felt like she was utterly alone and the entire world was standing in her way.

…Gods, she could definitely imagine Jisa declaring war on the gods, if she decided they weren’t taking good enough care of the world.

 _:She’s trying to live up to her parents:_ Melody sent. _:Those are some big shoes to fill. And, well, I’m sure it was a factor that she did want to be a mage very badly. That part wasn’t a sacrifice:_


	20. Chapter Twenty

Melody’s hands darted back to her lap. “So we don’t know for sure. There’s a pattern there that doesn’t look native to her mind, but it’s faded – I can’t really tell what it’s for at all, much less if it was meant to make her spill the wrong chemical on purpose, and I certainly can’t make out who did it.” A shrug. “She did see Terrill a month ago, so it could be leftover from that.”

Still, Savil thought dully, it was evidence that she had been right, and some agent really had compelled Sandra’s supposed ‘accident’. They were all crammed into Vanyel’s room at Healers’, and based on his face, he was thinking the exact same thing.

Randi frowned. “Why?”

“General stress, it sounds like. Not quite a nervous breakdown, but she was fighting with Kilchas a lot, having trouble sleeping, irritable – the usual for someone under a lot of strain. Tran suggested it.” Melody shook her head. “I could be seeing Terrill’s work – he often puts in redirect-patterns that aren’t built to last. Or I could be entirely wrong that it’s anyone’s work at all. I’ve never Seen her mind before, myself.”

“Understood.” Randi’s face was level, but he ran a hand over his hair, one of his few signs of nerves. “How is she holding up overall?”

Melody’s hand darted to her collar. “Well, it’s a lot for her to take in. She doesn’t remember the incident at all – from her perspective, she inexplicably woke up in a bed at Healers’, blind, in pain, and unable to speak. Now she’s trying to accept that this might be the rest of her life. She’s understandably quite upset about it.”

Sandra’s throat was badly damaged, Shavri had said – they weren’t sure if she would ever be able to use her voice again. At least she was a Mindspeaker. She had some way to communicate.

She was so young, only thirty-two. Shavri’s initial guess had been right – the damage to her lungs was too severe to Heal fully. She would live, but she might never be without pain, or able to breathe minus the aid of the air-of-life talisman she had designed. She certainly wasn’t going to be fit for combat.

Knowing how much she had always hated the battlefield, Savil wondered if she might consider that part a silver lining.

It seemed her mind and Gifts were intact. Physical debility would affect the depth of her reserves, but throwing power around had never been Sandra’s main strength. Even blind, with mage-sight and help from others she would be able to design artifacts as she always had.

That much was, in some strange way, a gift from Vkandis, if Savil took the Suncats’ supposed relationship to the Karsite god seriously. It was an uncomfortable thought.

And, of course, a result of Vanyel’s quick thinking and willingness to take risks. Would he have hesitated if he had already known about his lifebond with Stef?

–No, she doubted it.

“Moving on,” Randi said. Unlike in most of the Senior Circle meetings, his face showed no sign of pain; Stef was sitting in the corner, his fingers healed enough to strum quietly at his lute. That was an upside to Stef’s new inclusion on the secret that Savil hadn’t even considered. “Let’s keep this on track. Van – this is the first time we’ve all been in the same room since Midwinter. Give us an update, please.”

Her nephew was looking much better today. He no longer needed the air-of-life talisman, and he had actually walked as far as the window that morning. He was sitting up in a padded chair now, hair clean and combed, wearing one of his own tunics.

His eyes moved between all of the faces in the room – Karis, Randi, Shavri, Tran, Dara, Keiran, and Katha. Joshel and Shallan had declined; their contributions were the least essential, and there really wasn’t room for anyone else. The two of them were co-running an audience right now, covering for Tran.

Finally, her nephew’s eyes came to rest on Savil’s face.

 _:You can do this, ke’chara:_ she sent.

He nodded briskly, and turned to face Randi. “Our conversations have still been largely theoretical, but we are getting to finer details of his plan. I won’t go into it too much–”

 _Thank the gods for that_. Every time Van tried to ask her for help thinking about some piece of it, it made her head hurt.

“–But the overall picture is, all of his work seems to hold water, though a lot of it is way above me. Yfandes can wrap her head around more of the maths, but even she would need twenty years to fully check all of it.” A flicker of his eyelids. “If we were to decide the plan itself was a good idea – just proposing the hypothetical, I’m not saying it is – then there might be time for that, because Leareth’s not going to be ready for the final stages for at least fifty years anyway. And I’m very confident that he doesn’t want to screw it up, and would genuinely appreciate another pair of eyes.” He closed his eyes. “However. Even if we imagine we’re utterly confident he’ll only go ahead with a plan that will work, and result in a safe, human-friendly god with the value-set Leareth intended, there are two more worries. One, for all that I respect him, even I admit Leareth’s particular morality is kind of dubious – a lot of aspects are reasonable, in my opinion, but I’m not sure the overall picture is exactly the thing we want imprinted on an all-powerful being. Two. The cost.” He shook his head. “His calculations check out; it really will take that much power, and blood-magic really is the only feasible way. It’s remotely possible that I could help him find an alternative, but only if I was willing to share what I know of Urtho’s weapons, and I’m not.”

The slightly-less-destructive device that had nearly killed him was another option Vanyel had brought up, Savil remembered – he had sketched the design for her, what he remembered from his quick examination-at-a-distance via mage-sight, and she had admitted it was well beyond her skill to duplicate it at all, much less redesign it to release mage-energies instead. Maybe Sandra could do it, given twenty years.

Twenty years that they very much didn’t have.

Vanyel lifted his head, looking around the room. “And we’re _not_ sure that any version of this plan is a worthwhile risk. Or that Leareth is even telling me the truth.” His gaze rested on Randi, calm, unreadable. “I think he is. In fact, I’m very close to certain. I would bet all the gold in the Treasury on it. But not the fate of the world.”

What a way to put it.

“I’m not sure I could ever be certain enough to take that bet.” For a moment, Vanyel’s eyes flickered to Stef, and then he deliberately returned to Randi. “At the very least, I would want to see into his mind, directly, and have a second opinion. Leareth is extending us quite a lot of faith, but I don’t think he trusts even me that far.”

Vanyel lifted his hands, palms up. “So I don’t know. I very, very much don’t want to end up at war. It’d be messy and awful and there’s a very good chance we would lose, no matter what I do. Leareth has us outmatched. Besides, the last time two very powerful mages faced off, and he was one of them, it nearly destroyed the world.” He lowered his eyes. “Even if I kill his body, we don’t know what makes him immortal – we have to assume he’ll come back. Not to mention he might be our only chance against this cataclysm that’s coming in a few centuries, if he’s telling the truth there, and I suspect he is. I don’t know. I’m never sure how to say this. Or whether I even should.” His hands clenched in his lap, but his face was still, calm. “No one else in the entire history of the world has tried as hard as he has. It feels like a travesty, to wipe all of that away. Maybe he’s not the right person for it – maybe he doesn’t have quite the right values. Still. Goddamnit, someone ought to do it, and if not him then I don’t know who will.”

Silence.

Savil wondered how many times he had rehearsed that speech, and whether Stef had helped. Vanyel could be very articulate, but even he wasn’t usually this compelling a speaker.

“Thank you,” Randi said finally. “Very thorough, if light on the technical details.” He glanced around. “I’m not sure what to do with it. We do need to make a decision. Any ideas?”

Tran was the one who spoke first. “Can I…?” He glanced around. “I think we should test some of those assumptions. Offer Leareth an ultimatum, and see how far he’s willing to bend.”

Vanyel’s face gave away nothing of his reaction. “What would you suggest?”

“That he needs to commit to finding another power source, even if that delays his work by a century, and that he needs to let us check _all_ of his work first, and give us veto power if we think any part of it is unsafe. And meet Van in person or something, with precautions against a sneak assassination, and let us deep-scan his mind and confirm that he means what he says.” His eyes drifted to the ceiling. “Maybe, I don’t know, if we can somehow find a Companion willing to Choose him. I suppose his accepting being Chosen would convince even me that he was on our side.”

Tran must have done a lot of considering in advance, Savil thought, and already have known the gist of what Vanyel planned to say – in her experience, he wasn’t usually someone who could think that lucidly on the fly.

She didn’t think much of their chances of finding a willing Companion, much less of Leareth accepting it. Not when Yfandes had come very close to repudiating her Chosen just because he wasn’t utterly sure Leareth was wrong.

Vanyel nodded, acknowledging the point. “You’re right. If he agreed to all of that, I would be convinced he was on our side. Enough to bet the fate of the world on it, I suppose – but that relies on him actually being willing to give someone else a veto over his carrying out the plan at all, and I can’t see him ever agreeing to it.”

Randi lifted a hand. “In your opinion, would it burn any bridges with him to ask? You could propose it as a hypothetical.” 

Vanyel was silent for a long time, clearly thinking. “No,” he said finally. “He’s not stupid, or petty – he’ll understand why those are all reasonable concessions for us to ask for, even if he isn’t willing to grant them. And he might be willing to propose alternatives.”

“Good.” Randi looked around. “Katha?”

“I’ve already sent agents north to find the pass.” She looked as smug as a cat in cream, Savil thought. “I’m allowing extra travel time for difficult terrain, but even so we ought to know in two months or so if Stef is right.”

No wonder she looked so satisfied with herself. Sending Stef north at all had been her plan, and had paid out in an entirely unexpected way, even if that was mostly coincidence.

Luck, or the sort of serendipity that the gods might nudge into being? It was such a circuitous chain of events – Stef’s befriending Jisa just in time to goad her into listening in on a private conversation, leading into a teary confession and Stef revealing his Gift, and Randi’s impulse decision to give him spy-training rather than have him expelled…

But she would drive herself mad looking for those patterns everywhere.

“Thank you, Katha. Keiran?”

The Lord Marshal’s Herald crossed her hands over her belly, still rounder than before even four months after her babe’s birth. She had always been a sturdy, healthy woman, and she wasn’t quite stout now but she was close, though she could still flatten most men in a sparring-match.

“If we’re giving an ultimatum,” she said, “we need to be able to back it up. Or he’ll call our bluff. Which means we need to actively prepare the guard. Randi, I really think you should consider making the announcement to the Council now.”

Savil flinched despite herself. Vanyel didn’t.

“I am considering it.” Randi steepled his hands together. “It’s not a good time, exactly, but it may never be a better one. We don’t actually want to make the call to go to war just yet – well, we’ve got a damned good excuse to delay, what with Kilchas and Sandra out, and Van still recovering.”

“I’ll be fine in a few days–” Vanyel started.

“Not for a battlefield you won’t.” Shavri’s voice was firm. “Gemma and I agree, you need at least a month to fully recuperate from this.”

They had Jisa, Savil thought. Untrained, and they couldn’t even start teaching her until her channels healed, but the girl was Adept-potential. Not that her parents would ever countenance sending her to war, but it might make it a lot more acceptable to risk everyone else, if there was someone left to look after Haven.

Jisa’s new Gift was still secret outside of the Senior Circle, though of course her Choosing was known, and had surprised no one but her parents. It was so common for the monarch’s children to be Chosen, and apparently Jisa’s bastard status didn’t change opinions. Savil had worried that the timing would make the others suspicious of Jisa’s Gift, but apparently no one needed further explanation.

“So we delay,” Randi said, “and I’ll tell the Council a truce is potentially on the table. The lords have all heard Van speak – they have a lot of respect for his negotiation ability. I suspect that will carry weight.”

Savil managed not to snicker. It was true, Van was always poised and eloquent in the Council-room, which was hilarious given what a mess he could be in private. Maybe it was no surprise he had picked that much up from Leareth – though, even from the first days she had known him, he had always been good at wearing masks.

_Oh, Van, I hate that we have to ask this of you._

* * *

Somehow, in spite of everything, Stef was in a good mood. As long as he didn’t try to think.

 _Why did I assume having the answers would fix everything?_ The answers were horrifying, and had only left him with twice as many new questions, on top of the vague pit of confusion that he couldn’t bring out into words yet.

He had spent the minutes after Randi left lost in the shock of it, head buzzing with a thousand unfinished fragments. Lissa’s visit was the only thing that had shaken him out of it, but the pit of everything-that-didn’t-make’-sense-yet was still there, under the surface, and if he was alone with his thoughts, he knew he would fall into it again. He doubted he would even make progress; more likely his brain would just start fizzing out his ears.

Mostly as a distraction, he had thrown himself into helping Vanyel prepare for his meeting. Not thinking about any of the content, really; he could feel his mind holding it at a distance, as though he was studying a historical ballad. Facts, that he could lay out next to each other and combine, but not entirely real. He had applied his keenly honed sense for word-choice and public speaking. Which was satisfying in itself, like playing with a puzzle, and he didn’t have to think about the implications yet.

Afterward, he had held Vanyel until he fell asleep, and then wandered over to check on Jisa, and taken over painblocking for Shavri until well after midnight. At which point he had stumbled back and crawled into his bedroll on the floor. He had learned by now that he was a lot more likely to actually get restful sleep there, where he had some room to stretch out, even if it was cold and lonely in comparison. He had woken still tired, with that sucking-empty feeling in his head that meant his energy was low, but he could cope.

There was still a reckoning to be had. Later. In the meantime, he might as well focus on the upsides.

He had gotten to sit in on a top-secret meeting of the Senior Circle, and hear Vanyel absolutely _destroying_ the speech they had worked on together, suave and polished and entirely captivating – it had taken all his self-control not to throw his lifebonded to the floor and start ripping off his clothes right there in front of everyone.

After that, Savil had stayed, and Medren and Ariel Ashkevron had arrived with Lady Treesa for a visit. Lord Withen Ashkevron and General Lissa had shown up together a few minutes later, still flushed and sweaty from sparring. _We’ve got the whole family together_ , Treesa had said, silver eyes sparkling, and she had pulled Stef into a hug and petted his hair. He didn’t really mind.

It was crowded, and they were loud, but that only made it feel more like an impromptu family reunion. Stef had never experienced one of those, certainly not with a family that felt a little bit like his own, by extension of Van being his. He didn’t entirely feel like he belonged, but Withen had been trying hard to make him feel welcome, jovially clapping him on the shoulder and asking to hear a song. Stef had successfully told a joke that made Savil laugh so hard she nearly fell out of her chair. All in all, an excellent time, even if he had been following Van’s lead and avoiding touching or being affectionate in front of his parents. It bothered him, but he had decided not to push.

Van, though, had been getting quieter and quieter for the last few minutes. He was still nodding and smiling along to Ariel’s chatter about her lessons, but something felt off.

“Just a minute, my Lady. I need to give my voice a rest.” Stef set down the lute, bowed gallantly to Lady Treesa, and reached for his cup of cider, trying to catch Vanyel’s eye. When he failed, he closed his eyes and tried to _push_ through the lifebond – it felt sort of like projecting with his Bardic Gift, but reaching into himself rather than outward.

Vanyel’s eyes flashed to him, and Stef tapped his temple, their agreed-upon signal for Van to open a Mindspeech link and read his surface thoughts for answers. Vanyel turned back to Ariel, lifting his hand and murmuring something, and then Stef was aware of his presence again, joining the space in his head that had only ever been his before.

 _Are you all right,_ he thought, slowly and clearly.

 _:I’m managing. And you? Looks like you’re having fun:_ Vanyel seemed to think he was hiding it well, and it was true that his face didn’t reveal much, but the the frazzled exhaustion was obvious in his mindvoice.

 _You seem stressed,_ Stef thought. _Do you want peace and quiet now?_

Van’s expression didn’t change at all, but Stef felt an incredible gush of relief from him. _:Oh gods. Please. That would be wonderful:_

He was clearly a lot more tired than he had let on. _Why didn’t you ask people to leave?_

 _:I didn’t want to be rude:_ Vanyel sent, a little sheepishly. _:And you were enjoying yourself:_

Yes, but having a good time at his lifebonded’s expense was the last thing he had wanted. _I’ll cover for you,_ Stef thought.

He turned back to Lady Treesa and yawned theatrically. “Oh! I am so sorry. I didn’t sleep very well last night, I’m afraid.” He rubbed his eyes. “Don’t think I’m good for much anymore. And Gemma will have my head if I don’t rest my voice so I can painblock tonight. I’m sorry to be a bore, but you probably ought to head out.”

“Oh! Of course.” Treesa brought a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, where are my manners? You must be worn out, you poor thing, singing all day like this.” She immediately rose, skirts flouncing, and started gathering up the others, shooing them towards the door like a mother duck.

Stef bowed politely to Withen, Savil, Lissa, and Medren as they left, and gallantly kissed Lady Treesa and Ariel’s hands. Then he closed the door, and turned back to his lifebonded.

Vanyel, to his surprise, was laughing silently, too hard to speak. _:That:_ he sent, _:was incredible. You’re a born actor. No wonder my mother adores you:_

Stef rolled his eyes. “You know who was spectacular? You. That speech earlier was _perfect_. Spot-on.” He felt his cheeks warming. “You think your mother likes me?”

“Absolutely.” But Vanyel’s grin was already fading. Stef hated to see it go – like watching a beautiful sunset end.

He crossed the room. “Van- _ashke_ , hey. Is everything all right?”

He saw how Vanyel started to gather himself up, tucking away the exhaustion and worry and hints of pain behind a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, Stef.”

“Stop it. Now.” Stef found his hands on Van’s shoulders again. “You do _not_ hide from me. What’s the goddamned point?” He tapped the center of his chest. “I can feel you. And you’re miserable about something. Tell me what’s going on.”

He didn’t realize until seconds later how incredibly bossy he sounded. What was he thinking? _He’s the most powerful mage in the Kingdom. Who am I to order him around?_

Vanyel was staring at him, silver eyes wide and startled, lips slightly parted. Looking absolutely _delicious_ , it wasn’t even fair. Stef wanted to kiss him senseless. And he was holding back, again, because – well, he wasn’t sure why. They had held hands, cuddled, Vanyel had fallen asleep next to him, but still, all of it had felt very chaste. Vanyel’s reaction the last time he had initiated a kiss still lingered in his mind. _What if I push him into something he doesn’t want?_

Medren’s advice had been to just _ask_. He seemed to think it was obvious, but Stef had no idea how to start that conversation.

Figure it out later. It wasn’t like there was ever a good time for it at Healers’, when someone might walk in at any moment.

“Why don’t you get back in bed,” he said, more gently, “and we’ll talk about it?”

Van didn’t really need assistance standing, but he let Stef help anyway, swatting at the disarrayed pillows with an irritated grunt. _:Don’t understand why they won’t let me go home already. These beds are awful:_

Stef wasn’t sure he realized he had slipped into Mindspeech. “Probably because you scared the crap out of them, Van- _ashke._ ” Gemma had taken him aside and warned him that Vanyel was going to be ‘insufferable’ as soon as he was feeling better, and that usually she would have kicked him out by now just to avoid the headache, but given what had happened she was playing it safe.

Vanyel said nothing, just sat with his eyes fixed on the wall.

“You,” Stef said, “are incredibly tense. Figure you can breathe all right on your stomach? I’ll give you a backrub, and we can figure out what’s got you in knots.” There, that was an excuse to touch him.

Vanyel only hesitated for a moment before obediently stretching out on the cot, and Stef perched on the edge, rubbing his hands together to warm them and then starting with the base of his neck. Van’s slimness was misleading – he was very fit, muscles corded and wiry under the skin.

“Are you nervous about how the meeting went?” he tried.

 _:Probably that’s part of – oh, gods, that feels good:_ Vanyel sighed, relaxing under his touch. _:I’ve been thinking about this deadline for months, and now that it’s done… I don’t know. Feels like there should be a resolution, somehow, but I guess that was never going to happen:_

“What was the deadline about?” Stef said curiously. It didn’t seem to him like there was anything special about the spring festival.

 _:Right. Forgot you didn’t know:_ Fresh embarrassment in Vanyel’s mindvoice. _:I was an idiot and got hurt exploring – hellfires, I haven’t even told you about Urtho’s Tower:_ A pause. _:That’s a long story, remind me to fill you in later. Anyway, I got myself blasted and I had some problems with my Gifts for awhile. It’s fine now – better, even – but it’s taken most of the last year to get there:_

“Oh.” Stef shivered. _What am I even supposed to say?_ Probably something reassuring. He tried to imagine how Medren would handle it. “That sounds really awful, I’m sorry.”

He really ought to start keeping a list of all the things Van had promised to fill him in on later. The man’s life was so incredibly surreal.

 _:It wasn’t fun. Honestly, though, I was relieved at having an excuse to put off the decision. The longer I can keep talking instead of fighting, the better the chance we can avoid fighting at all:_ He shuddered under Stef’s hands. _:I hate not knowing. Guess we’ll have more information once Katha’s people find the pass–:_ He broke off. _:That feels amazing. You’ve got incredibly strong hands:_

Stef had slid his hands under Vanyel’s shirt and moving his thumbs in slow circles down either side of his spine. “Well, you know, musicians.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. “Van- _ashke_ , was it wrong of me to let your family in?” he asked finally. “I thought you would be happy to see them.”

 _:I was:_ A hint of self-consciousness. _:I do love them dearly, just – they can be a bit much. Especially all at once like that:_

“Your mother is a bit much all by herself. I mean that in the best possible way.” Stef had reached the base of Van’s spine, and started working his way back up. “…It seems like you get overwhelmed by crowds?” he guessed. Not something that would ever have occurred to him, having seen Van socialize at Court functions before – he was so incredibly poised. And it was an utterly alien experience to him, but he could at least try to understand. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention and I didn’t realize how stressful the meeting was for you. I would’ve made sure you had time to relax afterwards.”

Vanyel wriggled slightly. _:Stef, it’s fine. You aren’t my keeper:_

“Aren’t I?” Stef let his hands drift back to Van’s neck, massaging right at the base of his skull. “Wow, you carry a lot of tension there.” Like lute-strings under his fingers. “Anyway, you’re _mine_. I take care of my things.”

Vanyel went stiff. _:I’m not your possession:_

In hindsight, that had been a terrible way to put it. His inner Medren was yelling at him. “No, no, of course you aren’t,” Stef said quickly. “That’s not… Van, I love you and I’m trying to be good to you, that’s all.” Even if sometimes he had no idea how. It was the first time he had regretted how little time he had spent actually _talking_ to his bed-partners; it seemed there was a skill he was lacking, for all that he’d thought he was good with people, and he kept putting his foot in his mouth. “I want you to be happy,” he added.

Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say again, somehow, because he caught a gust of bitterness/resentment/guilt that definitely wasn’t his.

“Van?” He paused his hands. “What’s wrong?”

Vanyel took a slow, deliberate breath, and started to relax again. _:I’m sorry. That wasn’t… People wanting me to be happy feels like an obligation I can’t fulfill, sometimes. But I am happy with you, Stef. Really and truly:_

The incredulous joy in his mindvoice was unmistakeable. “Good,” Stef said. “I want to keep it that way. Which means you _tell_ me if you need rescuing from your loud relatives.”

Vanyel chuckled. _:You seemed to hold your own with them just fine, in terms of volume:_ He had gone limp under Stef’s hands again, and his mindvoice was starting to sound vague.

“Well, at Bardic they do teach us how to project,” he said lightly. “Relaxed yet? You sound sleepy.”

 _:I’m pretty much a puddle:_ A note of apology. _:If you keep doing that much longer, I’m going to fall asleep:_

“Excellent. Please do that.”

* * *

“Shavri?” Melody stood in the doorway.

Shavri rubbed her eyes. “Come in.” Despite Need’s apologetic presence at her hip, and the strength she provided – she was pretty sure the Adept-potential mage-sword was feeding her node-energy directly from somewhere nearby – she couldn’t remember the last time she had been this exhausted. It was already past sunset, coming on two days since she had found Jisa unconscious on the path outside Sandra’s Work Room.

Melody nodded, and took the extra chair. “How is she?”

Jisa was passed out, drooling on her pillow. “Drugged,” Shavri said wearily. “Gemma gave her argonel so Stef can actually get some sleep tonight.” She had only just arrived, and if she’d known that was the plan, she would have offered to cover the night instead – giving her daughter addictive drugs wasn’t something she approved of – but she had to admit that she was worn out as well, and sitting up all night was a terrible idea. She had been energy-sharing with Randi all day, getting him through the initial Senior Circle meeting in Van’s sickroom, and then an even more exhausting Council meeting that had been rescheduled repeatedly and really needed to happen. It felt incredibly banal and pointless right now, but the Kingdom couldn’t grind to a standstill just because her daughter needed her.

Melody nodded, and pulled over a chair to sit. “And how are you?”

“How do you think?” Shavri looked away. _Don’t cry now._ “I’m managing.”

“Did you talk to her yet?”

Shavri shook her head. “Haven’t had much time alone, and she’s foggy even without the drugs.” Her throat clenched. “I’ve been working on trying to Heal her channels, using concert-Sight with Savil, but – I’m worried this is a Moondance job. It’s too fiddly and slow doing it in concert, it’ll take weeks.” And meanwhile her daughter was in agony.

Melody lifted an eyebrow. “You’re considering sending her to k’Treva?”

“Or asking them to come here, but the latter is a better plan, if I can talk Randi into it.” She closed her eyes against the ache of tears, and reached out with a Mindtouch. _:I want her out of Haven, Melody. We’ve kept her new Gift a secret so far, but something’s going slip out sooner or later if she stays here. And if there really is an assassin, now would be the ideal time to come after her, while she’s untrained and vulnerable:_

The only issue with the plan was that passing through a Gate again had nearly killed Van, back then, but given that they had later discovered how to work around Vanyel’s Gate-sensitivity, Shavri had wondered if Jisa would have the same issue at all. The fact that it had been deliberate in her case, and not accompanied by nearly so much emotional trauma, might mean not – but that was an awfully big ‘maybe’. Could they test it? Maybe if Savil built one of her tiny Gates, starting a good distance away…

Melody nodded. _:I agree, it’s a good plan:_ Her eyes moved about between the corners of the room before settling back on Shavri’s face. _:Have you asked Need if she saw what happened with Jisa’s channels in any detail? I’m wondering if we could work from this to a safer process that awakens a potential Gift more gently:_

That hadn’t occurred to Shavri at all. _:No. I suppose we should:_ It hurt to think about, her entire mind flinched away from the prospect, but Melody was right. There was an opportunity here they couldn’t afford to waste.

“Melody?” she said out loud. She wasn’t sure how to ask, but she forged ahead. “Do you happen to know about anything, um, going on between Treven and Jisa?”

Melody’s lips twitched. “You noticed the lad’s been here rather often?”

Basically all of his free time that wasn’t taken up by meetings, and he had been there until very late the night before; unusual for him, he was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise sort of boy. “Yes. Jisa hadn’t mentioned anything to me before, though.”

“Nor to me, but I’m not sure she would. She’s at that age.” Melody shook her head. “You’re right, though. He looked like a boy hopelessly in love to me.”

 _Oh, no._ “I’d been hoping I was imagining things.”

“Why?” Melody said lightly. “He’s a very sweet lad. I would say they’re a very good match.”

“He’s going to be King!”

“And Jisa is a King’s daughter.” Melody tipped her head to the side, eyes fixing on Shavri’s face, still for once. _:Shavri, listen. I know you want the best for her. But the life you had wrenched away from you may not be the same one that she wants to live. It’s her choice:_

Every word of that was true, Shavri thought dully. So why did it still hurt so much?

* * *

“Yes?” Randi opened his eyes and lifted his head from the pillow, wincing at the effort it took. Shavri was out – with Jisa again, most likely, though she had taken most of the day to painblock him through the various meetings and usual business. He had heard the page who was attending him go to answer the door, and hadn’t even been able to muster curiosity.

“It’s just me,” Melody said. “I wanted to speak with you privately. Is now a good time?”

“Now’s fine.” It wasn’t like he had been getting work done anyway. With neither Shavri nor Stef there to painblock, he had given in and taken a hefty dose of poppy-syrup. He had built up some tolerance to the stuff, and he was lucid enough for a conversation, but trying to focus on reading Dara’s neatly organized notes on the Council-meeting prep had been beyond him.

The page bowed, and closed the door on them. Melody crossed the room and settled into the chair beside his bed.

“It’s about Jisa,” she said. “You know that Shavri wants to send her to k’Treva?”

He bent his head “Yes. I agree, I think.” They thought they had kept her new Gift a secret, but they couldn’t be sure, and she was so incredibly vulnerable right now. _We need to send her somewhere safe._ Not to mention, she could get better training with the Tayledras than anywhere else. Yet another favour to ask of them, but they _were_ Valdemar’s allies, and they might need that edge.

It hurt, catching himself thinking of his own daughter as a piece on the King’s gameboard – that way of seeing the world had never been meant to go near family – but nonetheless.

“I want to make a case to you,” Melody said calmly. “That it’ll be hard on Jisa to send her alone, and, gods, I’m angry with the girl, but that doesn’t mean we should punish her in that way. Reckon what’s already happening is punishment enough. Anyway. I know you won’t like it, but I want to suggest sending Vanyel with her.”

Randi blinked. He felt his eyebrows rise. “Why do you think I won’t like that?”

Melody’s hand darted to the neck of her robes. “I would assume you don’t want to give up one of your best mages for months. Still, Gemma tells me Van’s going to need a month at least before she’s willing to clear him for regular duties, so he wouldn’t be available even if he stays in Haven. And your daughter’s theory about his little near-death experience may not have been true, but there’s some grounds to it; we may in fact have an assassin on our hands. Do you really want him in Haven while he’s still recovering?”

Gods. He hadn’t thought of that. “No.”

“And he’s had experience teaching mage-gifted trainees,” Melody added. “Not nearly as much as Savil, but it’ll be harder for you to spare her. Not to mention, she isn’t one of Jisa’s parents.”

Randi reflexively glanced at the door, checking it was shut. “Melody, can we not talk about that out loud?” There was privacy-shielding on the walls, courtesy of Savil’s regular maintenance, but even so. “Anyway, isn’t Van furious with her?” Shavri had conveyed exactly how Jisa had discovered enough of Vanyel’s history to imitate it, and Randi could scarcely imagine how hurt and betrayed Van had to be feeling.

“I imagine so, but he has it under control.” Melody tugged one sleeve straight, then the other. “And I’ll confess that’s part of my agenda as well. I’d like Jisa to have some un-pressured space to figure out how to apologize and patch things up with him, rather than leaving it to fester until she comes back. Their being able to work together may end up being important.”

A valid point – and yet, not nearly sufficient as a reason to send away one of his best mages. Besides, something else had occurred to him. “What about Stef?” he said quietly. “You’re not thinking of separating them, surely.”

“No, not at all.” Melody’s voice was very mild. “I’d like you to consider sending him too. I know that’s a big ask, but you _can_ spare him, for a month or two – Shavri and Gemma both have the hang of painblocking even when you’re distracted, and more of the Healers can do it if you’re in trance. Besides, Stef needs some recovery time. We’ve asked an awful lot of him in the last week. He’s been working his Gift raw, and losing a lot of sleep as well, which isn’t a good combination. I don’t care how young and resilient he is; we’ll still burn him out if we’re not careful.”

Randi frowned. “Melody, what’s your ulterior motive here?”

She folded her arms, eyes resting on him, still for once. “Van could really, really use a break, and some space to get his head around this whole lifebonded thing. I know him. It would be very good for both of them if that happened in a place where he feels safe and relaxed, and isn’t trying to hide their entire relationship from everyone.”

From what he’d observed, the Tayledras had a very different attitude towards that sort of thing. “Right,” Randi said.

“He needed to make a trip there sooner or later,” Melody pointed out. “The Tayledras may have rather a lot to weigh in on what he learned in the Tower, not to mention his discussions with Leareth since. They’re our allies. They deserve a chance to get up to speed.”

…Another, very fair point. It had been a whole year since Vanyel’s return from the Tower, and there had never been a good time to send him to k’Treva, but they weren’t sure how much time they had left.

 _It’s never going to be a better time._ An echo of a memory of Darvi’s voice. _We don’t get to live after the work is done. We have to live while we’re doing it, or otherwise we never will._

Damn it, but whether or not he could justify it on strategic grounds, Van really did deserve a break, and a chance at some happiness. Even more so if they were about to end up at war.

“I…need to think about it,” Randi said slowly. “But I’ll take your advice under consideration.”

* * *

“So?” Melody said. “Van, I heard you might be taking a little trip. In the meantime, I wanted to check in how you and Stef are getting on, now that you’ve had a few days to absorb this.”

It was the morning of the sixth day. Vanyel was still at Healers’, but he felt pretty much back to normal; Andrel had supervised him walking three laps up and down the hall and declared him well enough to go. He was mostly waiting for Savil to arrive and help him pack up all his belongings that had ended up scattered around the room.

Shavri had visited first thing in the morning, when he was still waking up – Gemma had _finally_ deigned to allow him chava again – and he had learned that they were sending Jisa to k’Treva. Shavri didn’t think it was within her skill to Heal her daughter’s burned mage-channels, even sharing Savil’s Sight, and Randi agreed that it would be good to get the girl out of Haven while she recovered and trained.

Shavri had asked him if he minded accompanying her, because Jisa ought to have ‘one of her parents’ there with her, and neither she nor Randi could go for obvious reasons. He had stared at her in disbelief for thirty seconds, amazed that she could possibly think he wouldn’t jump at the chance, until he remembered that it wasn’t at all obvious whether they could spare Stef, and whether either of them could handle being hundreds of miles apart.

Randi had apparently decided to send Stef as well.

Stef, Vanyel thought, was over the moon at the opportunity to not just properly meet his exotic Hawkbrother friends, but actually visit a Vale. He had left a few minutes ago to do his own packing, and make arrangements to cancel all of his upcoming performances. Melody was right that it wasn’t as painful to be apart now. In fact, Vanyel was feeling something like relief. He was used to having a lot more privacy and time alone than he had in the last few days, and as much as he enjoyed Stef’s company, having him around nearly all the time was starting to feel wearing. Especially given Stef’s fierce protectiveness that verged on possessive. Had Tylendel ever–

Tylendel had been _exactly_ like that, he thought. And he hadn’t minded, or even really noticed it enough to name – he had been fifteen years old, terrified and insecure and desperate for love. And for someone to tell him who and what he was.

 _Stop comparing them,_ he thought, pointlessly.

“We’re doing fine,” he said. “I think.” Actually, he wasn’t sure at all.

Melody was still watching him, patiently, one eyebrow slightly raised. The expression that said there was no point in his hiding anything, because she would have it out of him sooner or later.

“We’ve had a couple of fights,” he admitted. “One was sort of silly,” even Stef had admitted in hindsight that being jealous of Death was ridiculous, and they had laughed about it, “but we also argued about something pretty big, where I was in the wrong–” Oh. He probably ought to actually tell Melody, even though the thought made his insides clench. “I, um…”

“Just spit it out,” she said mildly. “I won’t yell at you, I promise.”

The remarkable thing about Melody was how well she could keep her composure – he had only managed to catch her off guard once or twice ever. He could in fact be fairly confident that if she was angry, she at least wouldn’t make a fuss.

“You heard how I almost died when I was here,” he said. “I used Healing-Gift to stop my heart so I could go yell at the Shadow-Lover for awhile. It wasn’t actually that risky – he always sends me back, and, I mean, I was already at Healers’ anyway, it took Gemma about ten seconds to get to me.” He closed his eyes, preemptively flinching. “I know, I know, it was reckless, and–” It was suddenly hard to speak. _:Melody, I screwed up, and I hurt Stef’s feelings. I didn’t want him to go through what I did, if I die fighting Leareth. So I asked the Shadow-Lover to undo our lifebond:_

Silence. Finally, he dared to open his eyes. Melody was watching him with her chin propped in her hands, elbows resting on her knees, her expression unruffled. 

“I do understand what you were thinking,” she said finally. “It makes a lot of sense. Also, I fully sympathize with Stef for being furious. That’s a lot more than just hurtful – it’s a devastating betrayal of someone who loves you deeply, Van, even if you only did it _because_ of how much you care about Stef. You were treating him like a child, not an equal, and you were telling him, essentially, that you didn’t want him in your life. Even if for the best reasons – because you love him and don’t want him to suffer. I think it showed great restraint on his part that he didn’t kick you out the window.”

Melody’s voice was perfectly level, which somehow made it even worse.

 _:I know:_ he sent, miserably. He really didn’t need her to rub it in further.

“You apologized, right?” Melody said, in the exact same calm voice.

 _:I grovelled. A lot:_ He blinked hard, eyes burning again. _:Melody, I’m still not sure I regret trying. Knowing what I did at the time. Still, I went about it in the worst way, I know that, and I hurt him. I feel awful about it:_

“Which, I mean, might be a correct response here,” Melody said lightly, “because I’m _not_ sure you’ve addressed the pattern that led you to not even notice how incredibly badly you were treating Stef when you did this. Still. I’m hearing more than guilt and shame from you. There’s a lot of fear there. What are you afraid of here, Van?”

The panicky pressure he had felt when Stef’s cold anger turned on him was rising in his chest again. _:I, just – Melody, it might happen. That I have to kill Leareth, and the only way is Final Strike. And I can’t – if that means taking Stef with me, or tearing his life apart, how am I supposed to make that decision?:_ It had been so much simpler before.

“And there you are.” She settled back, crossing her legs. “Having this happen now – you’re happy about it, of course, but I imagine you feel like you suddenly have a lot more to lose.”

Like a knife to the gut; she had named what he didn’t even know he had been feeling, pinning it down like a butterfly to a board. He curled his knees in, clasping his hands over his face. _:Melody, I don’t – it’s not – I can’t even think about what it would do to him. And I have to be able to look at reality:_

“You do. And it’s going to be confusing and messy and painful for a while, I think. But you really mustn’t take that fear out on him.”

He closed his eyes. _:Are you angry with me?:_

“No. I’m feeling a bit sad, because I care about you and I know how hard this is. Relationships are challenging enough without the fate of the world at stake. Van, I really do understand why you did it, and there’s a certain kind of courage there. I think Stef will see that eventually as well, and he will forgive you for this.” Her head tilted to the side. “I am curious. You mentioned ‘knowing what you knew at the time’. What changed?”

Of course Melody had noticed that. It was an excellent lead-in to the part he really ought to talk about with her, and hadn’t been sure how to approach.

He took a deep breath. “Something the Shadow-Lover told me. I haven’t told Stef because, well, I think you’ll understand once I say it.”

“Go ahead, then.”

There wasn’t going to be any way to say it that didn’t make him sound completely insane. “You know how the Groveborn Companions can die and come back again?” And ordinary Companions as well, apparently, but he suspected that was meant to be secret.

“Yes…” _Where is this going_ , her narrowed eyes said.

“The Tayledras have a belief that when people die, their spirits come back as different people.”

“Right…”

His jaw was clenching; he forced it to relax. “Well, apparently it’s true. And Stef is, um…”

He didn’t need to finish; he saw the moment when she made the connection, her eyes widening. She brought a hand to her forehead. “Oh. Gods. You’re kidding. Right?” A strained pause. “You aren’t kidding. Goddamnit.”

There was anger in her face. Understandable, Vanyel thought. He had been wrestling with it himself – at the rush of pointless longing when Stef knelt at Randi’s feet and swore an oath to Valdemar, he had shielded the lifebond as thoroughly as he could, holding back the hurt and betrayal and, yes, anger that came on its heels. Feelings he had thought were set aside a long, long time ago.

_I miss you so much, ashke. And you’re still not here._

Melody lowered her hands. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t be angry. Just – I like Stef. He’s an intelligent, levelheaded, very charming young man. And, damn it, I’ve spent ten years being goddamned _furious_ with Tylendel for what he did to you. Trying to connect those two things is making my head hurt.”

His throat was tightening again. _:I know. I keep telling myself…:_ He swallowed. _:Stef isn’t him:_ A spirit is not all that makes up a person, Leareth had said, and this seemed like an excellent example of that. _:He doesn’t remember, for one – he has no idea. I can see similarities, now that I know, but I never would have guessed otherwise:_

Vanyel had never seen Stef angry until a few days ago, though he’d heard tales from Medren of his roommate’s ruthless attempts to defend his honour. The resemblance there was more obvious. And still different. Stef had a temper, but he was in control of it; growing up as he had, he wouldn’t have had a choice.

“It’s also worth pointing out,” Melody said slowly, “that literally the only thing I know about your ‘Lendel is how things ended. I’m sure he had redeeming qualities. In fact, it’s a bit unfair of me to judge someone solely on their worst decision. I’m sorry for that.”

Vanyel laughed, shakily. _:That’s partly my fault, for never talking about the good times:_ He had managed to do it with others, sometimes, but Melody was right, he had never brought it up with her. _:Anyway. I’m glad I know, I think, because – well, I thought Stef hadn’t chosen the lifebond. This got me to accept that there’s a sense in which he did. The Shadow-Lover gave ‘Lendel a choice, with all the relevant information – which would have included the fact that I was likely to die fighting Leareth – and he made it:_

It was still bizarre to think about, because it wasn’t like Stef remembered that decision, and maybe it hadn’t been his in any meaningful sense.

“I’m glad as well, I think,” Melody said thoughtfully. “Though I’m worried about your knowing when he doesn’t. There’s an imbalance there. You’re doing a lot of comparing them, aren’t you? And it hits you hard, when you recognize any similarity.”

“A bit,” he admitted out loud. And Stef had noticed. He was leaving it alone for now, but he wouldn’t let it slide forever.

She shrugged, uncomfortably. “I know it won’t be an easy conversation to have with him. Still, I think it’s better if both of you know.”

Vanyel nodded reluctantly. Yfandes had ventured the same advice, though she hadn’t pressed. “I’m…mostly waiting for a good time.”

Her eyebrow twitched. “Soaking in some hot springs in k’Treva sounds like an _excellent_ time for a conversation like that.”


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

“Take care!” Savil called out across the Gate-threshold, waving. “I’ll miss you.” And she raised her hands to unweave the Gate-energies.

Moondance called out his own goodbye to her, then turned to the party that had just arrived. Vanyel and the young Bard with the odd Wild Gift, who he remembered vaguely from the previous visits, were supporting Jisa between them; the two Companions had followed them through the Gate.

It had only been two years, but Jisa had changed a great deal. When he had last bade her farewell, she had been a child – now, she was undoubtedly a young woman, her unformed childish features refined. She had her mother’s eyes, but her father’s nose and chin, set in a strong-boned, triangular face.

She was supporting some of her weight, but her chin drooped against her chest, and she was very pale. Vanyel had already provided a quick Mindspeech explanation of what had happened, and he could see it with his own Othersenses as well – the newly opened channels, as raw as Vanyel’s had once been, decades earlier.

An important problem to be dealt with. Still, not the thing that had captured his attention most. Most ordinary mages or Healers would have missed it, but Moondance had unusual training.

Physically, Vanyel looked pale and tired, but he was smiling, and there was a brightness to his aura that had never been there before. When Moondance Looked deeper, there was an energy-link. Not a standard Mindspeech connection – he couldn’t see it directly at all. Only the flow, especially clear because it was moving mainly from the young singer to his Wingbrother.

It was the same thing that always happened with Starwind if one of them was ill or tired, unless the healthier one was carefully shielding.

_I think you have news for me, brother._

He burned with curiosity, but he could wait for an explanation. “Come,” he said. “Let me?” He reached out to assist. The two had managed to get Jisa across the threshold without incident, but she nearly matched Vanyel’s height and weight now, and the young Bard in particular, who was even smaller and slimmer, was clearly struggling. He was trying to sing under his breath at the same time, and Moondance could See the odd energy-loop that was his Gift, catching onto Jisa’s turbulent aura.

Moondance found that he could still manage to lift Jisa in his arms, though he felt the strain of it; he was in his forties now, and he needed to be more careful with his back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on, but let her head fall against his chest.

“This way,” he said. It wasn’t far from the courtyard that held their main Gate-terminus to the ekele he still shared with Starwind – Brightstar, on the cusp of adulthood, had just moved out and was currently living in a shared ekele with three other young men his age.

The hammock hung ready, and he knelt to ease Jisa into it; he would make up Brightstar’s old bed for her soon, but right now it was bare of blankets. She moaned, grimacing briefly, but her face smoothed out again as the young singer pushed a little harder with his Gift.

She would be all right there for a moment. He rose, turning. “Vanyel, brother, it is good to see you.” He pulled his friend into a hug, then stepped back, smiling reassuringly at the singer. “And you are Stefen, no?”

“That’s me. You can call me Stef.” The young man smiled sunnily; he seemed completely at ease, but his manner didn’t match the swirling tension in his aura, betraying a great deal of nerves. He bowed. “It’s an honour to meet you properly, Moondance k’Treva.”

“No, the honour is mine.” There was a warm, thick feeling in his throat. “You are – my Wingbrother–” Suddenly, words were failing him.

“My _shay’kreth’ashke_ ,” Vanyel confirmed, reaching for Stefen’s hand. “It was very unexpected, but for once it was the good kind of surprise.” At the same time, he reached out with private, shielded Mindspeech. _:There’s something I want to talk to you about, actually:_

 _:Of course:_ Looking into the young singer’s bright hazel eyes, he thought he already had an idea of what.

* * *

K’Treva Vale, Stef thought, was exactly as incredible as he had expected. Moondance had wanted to stay with Jisa, making a start on Healing her channels, but he intended to keep her asleep with his Gift during the process, and had informed Stef that he could take a rest from painblocking. Which was a relief. His Wild Gift had gotten stronger over the years he had served Randi, but using it so heavily for a week had still left him incredibly drained. Shavri had said there might be another reason for his bone-deep exhaustion, which was that he was involuntarily energy-sharing with Vanyel. _You’re probably the reason he’s bounced back from this whole thing so fast,_ she had claimed.

His lifebonded did seem to have made a remarkably quick recovery – it was the sixth day since the incident, and he had walked all the way out to the Heralds’ temple without being noticeably short of breath at all. The only lingering symptom was a dry cough, and Shavri thought the hot springs at k’Treva would clear that up very quickly.

He had let Van peel off to talk to Moondance, and followed Brightstar – who was friendly, but barely spoke Valdemaran at all – on a tour around the Vale, which had ended at the ground-floor room he and Van would be sharing. ‘Room’ wasn’t quite the word he was looking for; there was barely a ceiling, only interwoven vines, it felt more like being inside some kind of giant plant. It was apparently a guest- _ekele_ that had been standing empty, and they had the whole place to themselves.

Stef wasn’t particularly afraid of heights, and had enjoyed his tour of Brightstar’s own living space, halfway up a tree. Still, he thought he was glad to be sleeping on solid ground.

He had set his meagre possessions down on the floor, and sat on the bed. Which was huge. Plenty of room for both of them. And, for the first time, there was privacy. About goddamned time.

It had been a bit eerie, seeing Vanyel’s silver eyes echoed in his son’s face. It really made it sink in that eighteen years ago, before Stef was even born, Van had already been a Herald-Mage, training here with Starwind. Dreaming of a pass in the north, and a fight to the death.

Speaking to an immortal mage who wanted to sacrifice twenty times the population of Valdemar to create a god. Vanyel was so horrifyingly matter-of-fact about it.

It wasn’t that Stef had avoided thinking about it, exactly – that would be stupid – but he had at least avoided _feeling_ about it. Being terrified was entirely appropriate, here, and also unhelpful. _I need to be strong for him._

And he didn’t know how. For the first time in his life, it wasn’t a game, and he was entirely out of his depth. _I can’t mess up. I have to do this right._

–He felt it as Vanyel approached. Like a song on the wind, coming closer, an indefinable tightness in his chest relaxing.

“I’m here!” he called out.

“Stef?” Vanyel lifted the screen that hung across one side of the door.

 _It’s like the whole world falls into place when he smiles._ Stef wondered if his mind was ever going to stop producing paragraphs of bad poetry every time Vanyel came near.

Van let his own travel-pack slide to the floor, and hesitated by the doorway. “So? How are you finding it so far?”

“Incredible,” Stef said, honestly. _Why are you just standing there?_ He wasn’t going to be able to handle it much longer, regardless of how bad an idea it was to jump on Vanyel and start ripping his clothes off.

“Van, are we–” he started.

“Stef, I wanted to–” Vanyel said at the exact same time. He broke off, pink staining his cheeks. “I’m sorry, you go first.”

Stef met his eyes for a moment, flashing silver, and then found himself staring down at his hands. “Van- _ashke_ , I don’t want to pressure you, it’s fine, but…” _Why is this so incredibly awkward?_ “Are we going to, er, do anything? Physical, I mean?” Damn it, the fact that Van was even making him ask that question out loud felt humiliating.

Gods, at least Vanyel looked just as embarrassed. He was shielding; it was hard to pick up much of what he was feeling. There was a tug of _something_ through their bond, but it was hard to name.

“Stef, I–” He closed his mouth, swallowed. “Do you want to?”

What kind of a question was that? “Obviously!” Stef found himself on his feet. “We’re lifebonded. What do you _think_?”

“I just–” Vanyel stopped again, his expression going blank for a second. Then he smiled, crookedly. “Sorry. Yfandes was just telling me off.”

“For what?” Stef said curiously.

–A new voice came into his mind, a woman’s husky voice. _:For still being hung up on your age. He’s too damned good at torturing himself and calling it self-control:_ A pause, and then a hint of slyness came into her mindvoice. _:Just kiss him already. You want it, he wants it, and you’ll be standing there all day if you wait for him to say it out loud:_

Stef, despite himself, burst out laughing. It wasn’t funny, really; maybe it was just the sudden release of nerves.

“What?” Vanyel said, eyes widening. His baffled expression was even more comical.

“Nothing,” Stef said. “Just come over here.”

* * *

Quite a long time later, they were in the private hot spring just outside their guest- _ekele_ , and Stef was floating with one arm on the edge for support, watching the sunset stain the sky in pinks and purples, fading into twilight. Vanyel was in his lap, head on his shoulder, completely relaxed and limp.

Fast asleep.

It had to be a sign of trust, he thought, for someone to fall asleep literally in the water, fully expecting him to not let their head slip under. It gave him an odd feeling of power. In fact, it made some horribly perverse part of him feel tempted to hold Van’s head under just to see what he would _do_ – whether he would struggle, or stay limp, fully believing Stef would bring him to the surface before he ran out of air.

He wasn’t actually going to do that, of course. For one, he was probably only thinking it because he was a terrible person, and second, it seemed like an excellent way to get blasted by a disoriented mage.

 _I love you so much there aren’t even words for it._ It still felt surprising, every time he noticed it. And yet, it was right. It was the rightest, truest thing of his entire life so far, and he wasn’t even sure why, it didn’t make sense – and yet it did. Somehow.

Vanyel stirred in his arms. “Hmm?” he murmured sleepily. “S’dark, when…” He seemed to wake up a little more, lifting his head. “Oh. Sorry. I fell asleep, didn’t I?”

“Don’t be sorry,” Stef said cheerfully.

Vanyel was sitting up, disentangling himself. “I used to have a bad habit of passing out in the bathhouse. I’m sure that taking baths in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep was contributing. I remember Tran walked in on me once, he must’ve been so confused.”

That was such an absurd mental image, Stef had to laugh again.

“I’ve fallen asleep on Moondance at least once in one of these pools,” Van added. “And, sorry, I’m _way_ too warm. Need to get out a minute.”

Stef was feeling overheated as well, and had been for a while, but he hadn’t wanted to move.

They both sat on the edge, toes trailing in the water. It was quite dark now. “I can’t see you,” Stef complained. “Is there a–”

He had meant to ask if there were lanterns or torches they could borrow, but a moment later, a warm-coloured ball of light appeared in midair, illuminating Vanyel’s smiling face. “Better?”

Stef stared at the little mage-light. “Oh. Can I…?”

“Touch it? Sure.”

His finger passed right through. There was a very slight feeling of warmth, but it wasn’t hot like a candle-flame. “Oh!”

Vanyel’s grin flashed in the soft light. “I always forget this is impressive for most people,” he said wryly.

“It’s not the most impressive thing about you by far.” Stef’s eyes drifted down. For some reason it always felt surprising to notice Vanyel’s scars, even though it shouldn’t have been – he knew the man had spent years on battlefields. The pattern of it was like a map to someplace he had never been.

Vanyel grimaced. “I know, I look a bit horrifying at this point.”

Stef let his hand drift out. “What’s that one from?” Three parallel lines just above his heart, the skin slightly darker and puckered.

Vanyel shrugged. “I let a demon get a bit too close.”

Like it was nothing. “And that?” A long, jagged white stripe, like a lightning bolt, cutting diagonally across his chest; it looked like a burn.

“Mage-lightning. I was being an idiot.”

“And that one?”

“Um, assassin snuck up on me during the Battle of Deerford.”

“And here?” It was a particularly ugly L-shaped scar across his midsection.

For the first time, Vanyel looked self-conscious. “My family’s priest stabbed me.”

Stef winced. “Oh, gods, that’s the story Medren told me when we’d just met. He was really upset about it. I didn’t know it was about _you_ until years later.”

“I wasn’t expecting it either. I had just Gated out of Highjorune after fighting Vedric Mavelan, I wasn’t in any shape to defend myself. It’s good Medren was there to look out for me, I guess, though I’m sorry to have put him through that.”

Stef fell silent. So many parts of Van’s life that he hadn’t been there for.

“Stef.” Vanyel’s voice was suddenly serious. “There is still something I need to tell you.”

“Oh!” He had almost forgotten, but he had been mulling over it while Van was napping, and he was reminded now. “Van, there’s something I should tell you first. Where are we right now? On a map, I mean.”

A confused look. “North and west of Valdemar. Probably a hundred miles or so from the new Border.”

“And, um, do you know if k’Treva would have contacts with any kyree clans?”

Vanyel blinked. “You’ve heard of kyree?” A pause. “I imagine so, though it hasn’t come up before. Why?”

He took a deep breath. Hyrryl had asked him not to tell anyone – but he had taken some time to think it over, and if he couldn’t trust his own lifebonded, who could he trust? “Because I met a kyree clan up north. That’s where I recognized the pass from. It’s near their territory.” He felt his hands twisting together. “They don’t know about it, but I was wondering if we could pass a message to them, and ask them to explore north and look for Leareth’s army.”

Silence.

Vanyel rubbed his eyes. “Stef, never stop surprising me. Gods! How in all hells did you manage to befriend the kyree? They’re incredibly secretive.”

Stef smirked. “One of their scouts overheard me singing in the woods. They really like music. In fact, remember the tonal scales I was telling you about? I got it from them.”

“Oh. Incredible.” Vanyel ran a hand over his chin, thoughtfully. “We’ll speak to Starwind about it. Anyway. I wanted to ask…” His lips moved silently for a moment. “Stef, what do you value? What’s the thing that you care about – that you’re trying to protect?”

It was the last question he had been expecting, but it wasn’t hard to answer. “…You, obviously.”

He didn’t think that should have been very surprising, but apparently it was. Vanyel just stared at him for a moment.

“What about the rest of the world?” his lifebonded said finally.

Stef shifted his weight on the stone ledge. “I mean. I live in it. More importantly, _you_ live in it.” There was something hovering on the edge of his awareness, hard to name.

“You swore an oath to Randi,” Vanyel said. “To build and preserve Valdemar, and to do your best to fix the wrongs. And I don’t think you meant it lightly. Why?”

 _Because you did._ It was more than that, though. “Randi’s worth following,” Stef said. “And, I mean, it’s my home too.” _My land. My people._ It still made him feel dizzy. “Van, you care about all of it, don’t you? You’re trying to save it, whatever that even means. So I’m going to help, obviously.”

Was it obvious? It felt like it now, it felt as solid as granite, but he wasn’t sure it had before.

“Oh.” Vanyel’s eyes bored into him, his expression hard to read. “Stef, what if I wasn’t here? What then?”

 _I don’t know who I would be if I hadn’t met you._ Stef shrugged, uncomfortable. “I’m…not a good person, Van. Not really. Medren said I was a selfish bastard once when were fighting, and it’s true.” He had never felt embarrassed about that before. “But, you _are_ a good person, and that’s enough for me.” His throat tightened. “It’s always going to be your world, now, even – even if you aren’t in it anymore. So it’s mine too.” He closed his eyes. “Don’t die, Van. Just don’t.”

“Everyone dies, eventually.” A long pause. “Except for Leareth, I suppose.”

 _I don’t want to ever let go of you._ He almost wanted to ask what Vanyel knew of Leareth’s method for immortality, and whether it was something they had any hope of replicating.

He didn’t say that, though – it was too hard to find the right words, and he had a feeling Van would react badly. “Then let’s make the goddamned most of the time we have,” he said bitterly.

Silence.

Stef dared to open his eyes. Vanyel was watching him with a very odd expression.

“What?” he said, feeling his eyes narrow. “Van, you keep _looking_ at me like that and I don’t know what it means.”

“…There’s something I have to tell you.” Van’s voice was strange as well. “Listen – can we go find Moondance? He offered to help us, er, have this conversation.”

* * *

In the warm dusk just outside Starwind and Moondance’s ekele, Vanyel could admit to himself that he was thoroughly, utterly terrified.

Stef was splayed in a hammock, somehow taking up the entire thing. Vanyel had taken the moss-cushioned stone perched next to him, and set a mage-light floating in the air above them. For this, he wanted to be able to see Stef’s face. 

Moondance, sitting across from them on one of the vine-woven benches, caught his eye and nodded. _:Van, Wingbrother, I know you can do this:_

He had no choice.

“Stef,” he said. “The Shadow-Lover told me…” _Just spit it out._ “Spirits still exist after someone dies. They can be reborn as different people. I know, because I–” _please don’t think I’m insane,_ “–because I spoke to Tylendel’s spirit once. In the Void – the Moonpaths. And the Shadow-Lover said, he said that – he gave Tylendel a choice. To move on, or…come back.”

Stef was watching him, eyes narrowed. Calculating.

He forged on. “Tylendel chose to come back, even knowing that I might die fighting Leareth. And he – you–”

Stef’s eyes widened very slightly. Vanyel wouldn’t even have noticed if he hadn’t been watching intently, but it was been impossible to miss the shock and disbelief that flooded their bond as Stef made the connection.

“A spirit isn’t all that a person is,” he said quickly. “It’s only a sort of kernel. You share that, and it’s why we’re lifebonded, but–”

Stef lifted a hand. “Wouldn’t I, um, have noticed?” he said faintly.

“You wouldn’t remember it.” Except for a few fragments, like a pet-name for a lover.

“There are memories you might carry, unrecognized,” Moondance said softly. “I have heard it said. Places, and people, that perhaps seem familiar. And that your mind and my Wingbrother’s fit together as they do…”

“Oh.” Stef turned half away, the warm mage-light highlighting the angle of his cheekbone. Vanyel could almost feel him thinking, chasing down a dozen threads at once. Reconsidering his entire life from a new lens.

He was surprisingly calm. Vanyel had expected – what? Panic? Anger?

“Is that why you kept looking at me funny?” Stef said finally.

Vanyel winced. “Probably. Sorry, I was trying not to, it’s just… You sit the way he did.” It was the first thing that had come to mind. “Things like that. You get Savil’s sense of humour.”

Stef was silent for another long moment. “Does this mean I have mage-potential?”

Vanyel almost laughed. “No. I’m afraid not.” Though it wasn’t such a crazy question – he had wondered as well, and discreetly checked at one point while Stef was sleeping. “It doesn’t mean you’re going to be Chosen, either.”

Stef made a face. “That’s a relief.”

Not a disappointment. Stef didn’t want to be a Herald. Which shouldn’t have been a surprise. _He’s not Tylendel._

Tylendel, who had considered it an honour and a privilege to be a Herald-trainee, to bear that sacred trust.

Who had gone out in a blue-white blaze all the same, taking fifty lives with him, in some pointless attempt at revenge.

 _I’m not a good person_ , Stef had said. It was possible Vanyel should have found that worrying, being bonded so deeply to someone whose motivations were selfish. What if it leaked into his own values as well?

But Stef had thrown himself into helping Randi. He had stepped out to defend Jisa even when it might have cost him everything. Maybe there was a part of him that was always calculating, weighing up the gains and the costs, but there was another part that would go to any lengths to protect the people he cared about, and the things that mattered to them, letting nothing stand in his way.

_You are a good person, and that’s enough for me._

There was something so weirdly circular about it. _‘Lendel, you taught me to care._ At the beginning, it had been his only anchor – holding up that sacred trust on Tylendel’s behalf, because it was what he would have wanted, and that was still real even though he was gone. _I built my whole life on your memory, ashke._

A path that had eventually led him to places stranger than he could have imagined. To a road of moonbeams and a candlelit room in the void, and a fragment of ‘Lendel who no longer understood him at all.

Eighteen years later, Stef had as good as declared that he would follow Vanyel anywhere. Following, in some sense, the ghost of who he had been in another life.

 _It’s always going to be your world,_ he had said, _even if you aren’t in it anymore._ _So it’s mine too._ Like it was that simple.

Maybe it was. Gods, Vanyel wished it could feel that clear for him.

“Van?”

Vanyel blinked. “Oh. I’m sorry, I was woolgathering.”

“I noticed.” Stef shook his head. “Van, I…” He cleared his throat, almost nervously. “Are you angry with me?”

“No!” The word burst out of him. “Stef, I mean, I’ve had some complicated feelings. But that’s not really about you.”

Stef didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded. “Right. Um…I’m guessing I shouldn’t tell Tylendel’s family about this?”

For a long moment, Vanyel could only boggle at him. “What?” he managed finally.

Stef lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “Visited them,” he said, his voice too casual. “On my Bardic trial. It was on the way. I mean, his parents are dead – it was his cousin Vanissa in charge. She remembers you, by the way.” He shook his head. “Makes more sense, why I wanted to see the place so badly. It did seem familiar.”

Vanyel rubbed his eyes. Stef had visited the Frelennye lands on his Bardic journey? And hadn’t said a word of it until now.

“Don’t think there’s much point.” Stef dangled his leg over the side of the hammock, letting it swing. “Leave the past where it belongs. It’s not like I’m really him _._ ”

“I agree,” Vanyel said faintly. 

Stef twisted the edge of his sleeve. “Reckon there’s any way I could get more of his memories back? Could be useful.”

“I have no idea,” Vanyel admitted. He shot a hopeful glance at Moondance.

The Healing-Adept’s shoulders twitched. “Perhaps. I will think on it.”

* * *

A slice of moonlight filtered in through the not-roof of their room, falling across Vanyel’s shoulders. _I’m not the most peaceful sleeper,_ he had warned Stef, but he had been still so far. 

Stef watched him breathe in and out for a moment longer, then sighed and rolled away, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He retrieved the loose robe Brightstar had lent him from beside the door. It didn’t seem like sleep was happening anytime soon.

 _What’s wrong with me?_ It hadn’t bothered him at first – if anything, it had been a relief. It was ludicrous, something out of a mad poet’s fevered imagination, but it was also the final piece he had been missing. A dozen floating threads suddenly had a home.

As silently as he could, Stef ducked out under the screen that covered the doorway, and stood for a moment, marvelling at the pleasant warmth of the night air. Starwind and Moondance’s pool glimmered under the moon. 

It had made sense at first; it wasn’t until later that the confusion had set in.

_Who am I?_

It hadn’t ever seemed like an interesting question, before. He was a nobody, an orphan from the streets – it only mattered what he _did_ , with his hands and his voice, his Gifts and his mind.

Only, had it ever been his mind at all?

 _It’s not like I’m really him,_ he had said, but there were traces. The inexplicable urgency that had driven him to visit the Frelennye lands. How absurdly personal the whole tragic tale had seemed, when he dragged it out of his roommate. Even the way Tylendel’s name had yanked him in from across the room the first time he had heard it.

And Vanyel.

The quiet insect-calls and the rustle of a breeze in the foliage only made the silence feel more profound. Stef turned on the spot for a moment, then made his way towards one of the paths, pushing aside the foliage.

Van had been the center of everything since the day Stef met him. Even before, the songs about Herald-Mage Vanyel Demonsbane, Hero of Stony Tor, had always been his favourites. Maybe that was unrelated – they were good songs, after all, about a compelling and _very_ romantic national hero – but it felt like he had to question everything now.

 _Was that me?_ Or only the ghost of a dead trainee, riding in his head? Steering his life, trying desperately to find his way back to the lifebonded partner he had abandoned.

Tylendel had called down Final Strike on his family’s own land in a moment of impulsive rage. Stef remembered the horror he had felt when Medren related that part.

_Was that me?_

It felt, deeply, like he would never do something that stupid. Was that only because he had learned his lesson the first time, and the Shadow-Lover had granted him a chance to do it over?

He didn’t even know what it would mean, to be the same person as Tylendel.

 _A spirit isn’t all that a person is_ , Vanyel had said. _It’s only a sort of kernel._ Maybe Stef should have asked more questions about what exactly that meant, though he doubted Vanyel knew either. It was the sort of question that seemed nearly impossible to answer.

Vanyel had agreed, when Stef claimed that he wasn’t Tylendel; he said that his ‘complicated feelings’ weren’t really about Stef. At the same time, he had willingly gone into the Shadow-Lover’s realm, wanting to undo their lifebond – gods, it still stung to remember that – and he had come back convinced not to. Because it made a difference to him, somehow, that Tylendel – not Stef – had been given a choice.

Knowing that he might lose Vanyel in turn, Tylendel had still decided to come back. Which made perfect sense. Of course he would want to atone for what he had done, set things right, even if he couldn’t undo the damage, or take back the decades of pain he had caused his lover.

How was Stef supposed to feel about it? He didn’t remember choosing. It didn’t _feel_ like that could have been him.

What did any of it mean?

Start with what he knew.

He had inherited the lifebond from Tylendel. Before he knew, when Vanyel had expressed his reservations that lifebonds weren’t voluntary, Stef had considered it and decided he didn’t care. Vanyel was his, and that was exactly the way he wanted it; it hadn’t seemed like the why mattered. Was there really any difference between a god arbitrarily making that choice for him, and Tylendel’s spirit – his spirit, whatever that even meant – doing so? Somehow it felt different, messier and stranger, but it didn’t change the bottom line. _I wouldn’t undo it for anything._

What else did he and Tylendel have in common?

Hard to know, because Stef knew next to nothing about him. _What was he like_ , he had wanted to ask, but he had held back, because it had felt awkward and he doubted he would get anything like an unbiased answer out of Van.

Maybe he could start with what he definitely _didn’t_ share. Appearance, for one – he realized he didn’t have any idea what Tylendel had looked like, but surely by now someone would have commented if there was a resemblance. Not Gifts either. Not his memories, or his circumstances.

Tylendel had had a brother, and a Companion. Imagining their deaths, Stef felt nothing in particular. Well, he did feel a bit affronted, that the universe had ended up such that Gala’s death had led to all the rest–

Gala. Had anyone ever told him her name? No, he couldn’t remember Medren having mentioned it. _Is that something I remember?_ An uncanny thought.

Still, it didn’t feel personal, not in the same way. Vanyel was _his_ , but Stef had no family and no Companion, and didn’t particularly miss either one. He had felt some vague affinity for Vanissa, and her story had touched him more deeply than he would have expected, but he had no real urge to go north again and see her.

So he hadn’t inherited Tylendel’s close relationships, other than Vanyel. He liked Savil well enough, but at this point he had known her on his own behalf for years – it was going to be very hard to untangle how much of his initial impression had been thanks to some vague Tylendel-memory, and he was comfortable deciding it didn’t matter now.

Why did any of it matter? He was finding this out now, but it had already been true for his entire life. Nothing was actually different. 

Only it did change things, that he knew. That Vanyel knew, and had been watching him and seeing echoes of his past. It wasn’t something either of them could just ignore.

And it was information that he had been missing, context that ought to bring some kind of clarity to the rest. Stef had always not knowing things, not knowing wasn’t _safe_ , and surely knowing himself was the most important of all. _I have to understand who I am._

Just a few candlemarks ago, it had felt so clear. Vanyel had asked him what he cared about. _You, obviously._ Van had seemed taken aback, for a moment, but not offended. Only curious.

Stef had never had any particular illusions that he was trying to be virtuous – he wasn’t, not the way that Medren was. He just wanted what any reasonable, self-interested person would want. Security, resources, a place for himself that no one could take from him. The power to protect his people. Peace and plenty; if he was going to live somewhere, obviously he wanted it to be a nice place, and if he had to do some of the work to make it that way, so be it.

Vanyel. _You cut through the lies we tell ourselves._

Jisa. _I don’t like it when people lie to themselves. Who are you trying to convince that you’re completely self-interested?_ Not the only time she had said something like that, and it always made him feel so goddamned defensive – like she was trying to rope him in, to convince him that he owed something back to the world just for existing.

Easy for Jisa to say, with her privileged position in life. No one was going to look out for Stef if he didn’t look out for himself, and he didn’t owe it to anyone else to look after them as well – well, there was Medren, but that was different, Medren had protected him before he had any idea how to fend for himself in the baffling new world that was the Bardic Collegium. Medren had been his first real friend – had, in some sense, taught him what the word meant. _I’m allowed to care about my friends._ It didn’t mean he was compelled to sacrifice himself for strangers as well. No one could demand that of him.

And yet he had knelt at Randi’s feet and sworn an oath that, in hindsight, had really come out of nowhere. _My land. My people._ An almost possessive pride in it.

In another life – whatever that even meant – he had been a Herald-trainee. Gala had looked at Tylendel and pronounced him worthwhile. No one claimed Companions were infallible, but it was universally agreed that they understood right and wrong. Valdemar was built on that. There were songs about it.

It had always seemed fake to Stef – duty and honour were just words. But he remembered kneeling in the crawlspace behind the Palace Work Room, catching the edges of his Gift on the emotions beyond that wall.  _No force will ever bring it down / This is our sacred trust._ In that moment at least, it had felt real enough to be worth fighting for. Not just nebulous words, but a roomful of people, whose faces he knew, doing their best to hold together a kingdom because it was _theirs._

Again that sense of vertigo, of double vision.

Was any of it him? Or did he only think he cared, because Tylendel had?

No. That path led to insanity. _I’m still me._ He had to believe that.

So maybe that aspect of Tylendel had left its mark on him as well, but that didn’t mean it had tipped the scales. In the world where he wasn’t Tylendel reborn, but was still lifebonded to Vanyel, it seemed like he would mostly want the same things. It was enough, that Vanyel really and truly cared about all the people, and Vanyel was _his_ , and so they were his as well – and, besides, surely it was sensible to worry about the future of a world you lived in.

 _I’m glad to have you on our side_ , Randi had said. Like he thought it might make a real difference, adding one scrawny Bard from the streets of a border-town to the mix. It felt like something from a ballad. There was an existential threat on the horizon, history was happening around him, and he had fallen right into the center of it. Some people would give up both legs for that chance.

Did it really matter what Tylendel would have thought of it? Stef was the one who was here, now, and he intended to help Vanyel win a war. Protecting his parter, and incidentally saving the kingdom he happened to live in too. The only sane response.

Nudging under another curtain of vines, he found he had come to the edge of the Vale. The shimmering barrier that Brightstar had pointed out to him in daylight was even prettier in the dark; it sparkled, fracturing the starlight into droplets.

–A moment of dizziness. For just an instant, it felt like he remembered a bottomless void of stars. Dusty violet light, falling through a glass window, mixing with the warm candlelight.

Echoes of grief and regret, that weren’t his.

Tylendel had made an awful mistake, but Stef knew enough about how people worked, now, to sort of understand why. It had to count for something that he had chosen to come back, despite knowing how it would end – how it _might_ end, Stef corrected himself, he was by no means resigned to letting it just happen.

Stef wouldn’t exist if not for Tylendel’s choice, and Stef was very glad he existed. 

He closed his eyes.

 _I’m sorry,_ he thought. Maybe it was insane to be addressing a dead teenager who might or might not still exist in any relevant form, but it felt right. _I’m sorry you lost Gala. I’m sorry it was too much and it broke you._ He took a deep breath. Not his mistake to atone for, but that didn’t matter – he would have done all the same things anyway.

 _Vanyel’s all right,_ he promised. _Everything’s going to be fine. I’ve got this, now._

* * *

_A frozen wasteland, howling wind–_

(Vanyel had carefully checked and reinforced his shields before he fell asleep, and to his massive relief, he was once again starting out at the mouth of the pass, with Stef nowhere to be seen. It was an unusually short interval between dreams, about a week, but he wasn’t especially surprised.)

_“Herald Vanyel.”_

_“Leareth.” He started to walk closer, but stopped ten yards away._

_“You are troubled,” Leareth said._

_“Damned right I am.” Vanyel folded his arms._

_Leareth inclined his head very slightly. “I hear reports it has been an eventful time.”_

_“I’m sure you do.” Vanyel kept his face and voice level. It wasn’t even that hard, now, after long practice. “Leareth, I might as well just ask. Are you still plotting to kill our Herald-Mages?”_

_Leareth’s black eyes were still, showing no sign of surprise or guilt. “No. I swear to you, by the sky, that I have no such plans.” A pause. “I realize that my saying this is hardly evidence, given that I would have reason to say this thing in all worlds, and I do not blame you for your suspicion. It is very difficult to prove a negative.”_

(That was the entire problem, Vanyel thought dully. Leareth might be trustworthy, and telling the truth – but if he was unscrupulous enough to both murder mages and lie about it, Vanyel would still expect to see exactly the same behaviour from him. He had tried to think of any proof he might ask for, and failed; he might literally never know for sure.)

_“I’m still going to talk to you,” Vanyel said calmly. “Since there’s still a chance you’re telling the truth, and since even if you are going after our mages, that might be a sensible precaution from your perspective, and I can hardly expect you to be stupid.”_

_“Indeed.”_

_Vanyel clasped his hands behind his back. “So. We’ve been talking about your plan for a year, now, and I figured it was time to review where we’re at. I know enough to believe that you’re aware of the main risks, but I’m not yet capable of assessing all of your solutions to those risks. And I don’t, in fact, trust what you tell me at face value.”_

_“I do understand. It is a sensible precaution for you to take.”_

_“Also,” Vanyel said, “even if you’re right and this will work, I’m very much not ready to accept the cost, and the fact that you are leads me to trust somewhat less that your values are the ones I want representing the entire world. I’m trying to be open-minded about it, really and truly, just…”_

_“I understand.” Leareth’s voice held a hint of sadness. “It is a difficult thing to come to terms with, and you do not have the centuries I did.”_

_Vanyel faced him, unflinching. “So I don’t know. Leareth, I want to trust you. Or, no, that’s not quite right. I want there to exist a person who’s trying to do this – to actually win, actually fix everything that’s broken – and do it right, according to my best understanding of ‘right’. I’m still unsure whether you meet that criteria, given some of the things you’ve done, and I want to find out the true answer to that question, and trust you if and only if you’re trustworthy. You, presumably, think that you are the right person to do this and that if I had all the information I would agree, so I’m hoping we can somehow figure that out.”_

_Silence._

_Leareth bowed his head. “Herald Vanyel, I have never claimed to be a man of virtue, by the standards of Heralds or of anyone. You might call me a monster, and be right to do so. And yet, I have watched millennia pass, and it does seem I am the only person who is trying to accomplish what we both wish for.” A pause. “I hope, in fact, that someday future generations will say that what I did was monstrous, because it would mean they lived in a kinder world. But we do not live in that world yet, and I do not think it is possible, from the starting point of the cruel and broken world where we find ourselves now, to reach that future if I must also constrain my actions to fall within what is generally considered moral. And so I fear that either this will be done by someone like myself, or it will never be done at all.”_

_“You could be right.” Vanyel shook his head. “And…if I had to choose…I don’t know.”_

(In the blue place, he had seen a wall of darkness and death across a thousand futures. But that could mean a lot of different things, and he wasn’t sure he trusted any vision that a god showed him of the future anyway.)

_“I would rather there not be a war,” he said. “I figured I might as well just ask you. What’s your timeline on losing patience and attacking us anyway?”_

_A thin smile. “Not for at least a year, Herald Vanyel. However, caution states that you ought not believe my answer.”_

_“I mean, obviously. It would be in your interest to say that no matter what you were planning. I’m sure you understand that it’s in our interest to be ready for a war just in case.” Vanyel returned the tight smile. “I’m aware that we can’t hide our preparations from your spies, so I wanted to warn you. And to clarify that I still want to keep talking, and I haven’t given up hope that we can work together on this.”_

_The slightest of nods. “Of course. I do not think ill of you that you wish to be prepared for all contingencies.”_

_“Right, then.” Vanyel rubbed his chilled hands together. “Let’s talk. One, I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, but if we’re ever to work together, it’s going to require more than just my trusting you. I need something I can offer the King and the rest of the Heraldic Circle – some kind of compromise, that will credibly show you’re actually on our side and won’t just stab us in the back. I have some initial ideas. None of which you’re going to like, I don’t think, but we can start from there.”_

_Leareth was still for a long moment. “Something about you is different, Herald Vanyel. I am not sure what.”_

_“I’m not sure either,” Vanyel said, as neutrally as he could._

(Which was true – he had no idea what Leareth was noticing in particular, since he had been trying very hard to behave exactly the same in the dream as he always had. Maybe the problem was that it was difficult to entirely hide being happy.)

* * *

Vanyel woke slowly, face pressed into the pillow, his limbs heavy and languid. He could feel the warmth of sunlight on his back; he must have been too hot and thrown off the covers at some point. _Gods, I think I overslept._ His bladder felt ready to explode.

 _:Yfandes:_ he sent, apropos of nothing. These days, he usually greeted her within a few seconds of waking.

She returned a wash of wordless love, and he caught a flicker of green, rushing past.

He remembered waking before in the night, disoriented after the ice-dream, and finding Stef gone. His initial near-panic had quickly dissolved, leaving him feeling silly; his sense of their bond told him that Stef wasn’t far, and Yfandes had reassured him it was fine. They had gone over the dream together – needless to say, Leareth had refused Tran’s compromise, though he hadn’t seemed at all offended – but he had started drifting off before they could discuss it much, and Yfandes had ordered him to stop worrying about it and rest.

Stef was there now. Not quite touching, but Vanyel could hear his breathing nearby.

He rolled over and opened his eyes. Stef was lying cross-ways at the foot of the bed, propped up on one elbow, watching him with an almost mischievous smile. With the morning sun blazing in his hair, he looked even more than usual like that painting of an angelic being in the Temple to Kernos.

“What’re you looking at?” he muttered.

The smile broadened to a grin. “Acres and acres,” Stef said, “and it’s mine, all mine.”

Vanyel recognized the tag-line of a popular joke, and groaned. “Yes, very clever.” He sat up, wincing at the stiffness; that was another thing no one mentioned about getting older, that you would be sore just from sleeping too long. “Stef, let me past. I need the privy.”

Stef watched him with an approving smirk, all the way to the door. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he interjected as Vanyel started to lift the screen.

“What?”

“You’re going to walk out there with no clothes on?”

“It’s fine, we’re in k’Treva.” Though it had taken years of visits before he was willing to go nude even in Starwind and Moondance’s private backyard, and he still preferred to be covered in the rest of the Vale.

When he returned, Stef was sitting on the edge of the bed with his legs swinging. “Van- _ashke_?”

“Yes?”

Stef kicked at nothing in particular. “I’m not him. Don’t want you to get confused on that part.”

 _Oh_. Vanyel stumbled. Really, he should have been expecting the follow-up conversation, but it had caught him off-guard. 

Search for the right words – he could ask Yfandes to rescue him, but it felt somehow important to handle this on his own. “Stef, I know. I never expected you to be him. That you’re made on the same – kernel, core, I don’t know the right word for it – that only matters because of how we fit together.”

He wasn’t even sure Stef had heard. “I’ve been looking for you for seventeen years,” he went on, eyes lifted to the canopy of vines. “Because someone who isn’t me made a choice, to come back and atone for he did. I’m happy with how it turned out – I want this, I want _you_ – but the thing that happened, the reason for it… It’s not my mistake to apologize for, so I won’t.”

Gods. He hadn’t even considered whether Stef would feel guilty about what Tylendel had done, or be tempted to blame himself. “Good,” he said, as firmly as he could manage. “Stef, I talked to ‘Lendel, to the bit of him that’s left at least. On the Moonpaths. I’ve heard his apology.”

Stef’s eyes widened. “Oh. Was that… Was the sky sort of dusty and purple?”

Vanyel blinked. “Yes.”

“I think I remember it, a little bit.” Stef shook his head, tossing a lock of disheveled hair out of his eyes.

Which made sense – as much sense as anything did, in the tangle of bizarre events that was his life.

“Anyway,” Vanyel said. “Stef, that wasn’t – that was me and ‘Lendel. Not us.”

Even as just a fragment, frozen in time, Tylendel had looked so overjoyed when Vanyel told him. _You found me, ashke._ Except that it was Stef who had found him, and Stef was his own person. Not the young trainee who had turned his back and burned down a forest, but it still felt like it counted. Like double vision; how could both things be true at once?

No one had ever promised the world would make sense, or be easy to think about.

“Stef, the why doesn’t really matter to me. We’re here, now.” He held out his hand. “Can we start fresh? You and me, not the person I lost eighteen years ago.”

Stef said nothing, only smiled – not a happy smile, it was small and tired and about a thousand years too old for his face. He patted the bed beside him. Vanyel hesitated and then crossed the room and sat, and Stef slipped an arm around him, leaning against his shoulder. He felt the tension he hadn’t noticed in his spine unraveling, his pulse slowing, in time with the never-ending song that played behind his breastbone.

“What a week,” Stef said, a long time later. “Van, is your life always this weird?”

He laughed. “It’s not normally quite this concentrated. I’m afraid you are signing up for regular bizarre occurrences, though.”

Stef snorted. “‘May you live in interesting times.’ Bardic saying. I never understood until now why Breda says some people think it’s a curse.” He sighed. “Oh, but the stories I’ll have…”

“You can’t write songs about most of it,” Vanyel reminded him. “That’s the trouble with state secrets.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Stef’s voice was matter-of-fact, but smugness leaked through the bond, and Vanyel could tell without seeing his face that he was smirking. “I still know.”

“Well, speaking of state secrets.” Vanyel glanced sideways at him. “I spoke to Leareth last night, and I was too sleepy to make notes. Want to help Yfandes and me talk through it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand that concludes book 9! 
> 
> Book 10 is written (as is book 11) but there may be a pause of a few weeks before I start posting it, since I'm rather behind on editing it. 
> 
> (If you're curious *why* I'm behind on editing, it's mostly the fault of a collaborative writing community called glowfic, which I have been producing embarrassing quantities of lately while recovering from surgery, as you can see here: https://glowfic.com/users/265)

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back! Hope to stay on track with weekly updates from here.


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